IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.0 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


V 


V 


4 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Histo.ical  Microreproductions  /  institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 


n 


□ 


□ 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagee 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur^e  et/ou  pellicul6e 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


□    Coloured  maps/ 
Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 

□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
En 


ere  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  pla'tes  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relie  avec  d'autres  documents 

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along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
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11  se  peu*  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
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mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmdes. 

Additional  comments:/ 
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une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  una 
modification  dans  la  mithode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


□ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag6es 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaur6es  et/ou  pelliculees 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxec 
Pages  d^color^es,  tachet^es  ou  piquees 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tachees 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materic 
Comprond  du  materiel  supplementaire 

idition  available/ 
Edition  disponible 


I      I  Pages  damaged/ 

I      I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

r~7|  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I      I  Pages  detached/ 

I    n  Showthrough/ 

I      I  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 

□  Only  edition  available/ 
Seule 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obsrurcies  pur  un  feuillet  d'arrata,  une  peiure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film^es  A  nouveau  de  facon  ci 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filrnd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 

18X  22X 


10X 


14X 


26X 


30X 


y 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


23X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grSce  d  la 
gdndrositd  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
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filming  contract  specifications. 


Let^  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  Texemplaii-e  filmd,  et  en 
ccnformitd  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Las  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film^s  en  commenqant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — »-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  §tre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


AND 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


*^ 


.^^^^ 


^1 


Ccfvcl^ 


'Dr.  Pringle  received  a  Utter.' —  Y'.  193. 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


AND 


THE   AYRSHIRE    LEGATEES 


BY 


JOHN    GALT 


ILLUSTRATED   hV  CHARLES   E.    BROCK 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  ALFRED  AINGER 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND     LONDON 

1895 
■A/J  rights  reserved 


\> 


L 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


/■ 


IS'arbsooD  ^xtit : 

J.  S.  Cushingf  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 

Noi'wood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


INTRODUCTION 


In  the  course  of  some  remarks  upon  Sir  Walter  Scott  and 
his  copiousness  as  a  writer,  John  Gait  in  his  Autobiography 
makes  the  not  very  profound  remark  that  'unless  we  ketp 
the  quality  of  excellence  constantly  in  view,  we  shall  fall 
into  a  sad  error  by  forming  our  estimates  of  authors  on  the 
quantity  of  their  productions.'  It  is  impossible  but  that 
Gait,  as  he  penned  these  words  in  his  declming  years, 
should  have  looked  back  on  his  own  remarkable  literary 
industry  and  wondered  how  far  the  abundance  of  his  own 
writings  would  affect  the  judgment  of  posterity  rpon  his 
place  in  literature.  For  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  (ialt's 
fluency  in  writing,  and  the  apparent  ease  with  which  he 
could  produce  any  kind  of  book  to  order,  have  had  much 
to  do  with  the  neglect  that  has  fallen  upon  him  in  later 
days.  He  had  written  poetry,  voyages  and  travels,  bio- 
graphies, and  treatises  on  commercial  subjects,  besides 
editing  and  compiling,  before  ever  he  discovered  the  vein 
in  him  that  was  really  worth  working. 

John  Gait  was  born  in  1779  at  Irvine  in  Ayrshire,  the 
son  of  a  sea-captain.  He  became  in  due  course  a  clerk 
in  the  custom-house  at  Greenock,  but  his  heart  was  already 
given  to  literary  pursuits,  and  he  early  began  writing  verse 
and  the  regulation  tragedy.    In  i8o3heresignedhissituation 

vii 


INTRODUCTION 


at  Greenock  and  went  to  I-ondon,  entering  into  partnership 
there  with  a  fellow-countryman  in  some  business,  which 
failed  after  two  years.  Gait  then  became  a  member  of 
Lincoln's  Inn,  and  again  turned  his  attention  to  literature 
as  a  profession.  The  bread-and-cheese  question  becoming 
urgent,  he  was  once  more  driven  to  accept  employment 
in  promoting  various  commercial  ventures  on  the  continent 
of  FAirope.  All  these  ventures  ultimately  failed,  and  after 
a  varied  life  of  residence  abroad  and  travel.  Gait  returned 
to  England  in  1814,  with  the  necessity  of  still  looking  to 
literature  as  a  means  of  subsistence.  Already  his  industry 
in  that  direction  had  been  extraordinary.  During  his 
residence  abroad  and  frequent  movements  from  place  to 
-lace  he  had  found  time  to  write  accounts  of  his  travels, 
with  statistics  of  foreign  trade.  But  his  interests  were  no 
less  keen  in  such  different  subjects  as  the  Drama  and  the 
Belles- Lettres  generally.  He  wrote  plays  of  his  own,  and 
poetry,  and  seems  to  have  been  little  disheartened  by  the 
hostile  criticism  or  neglect  they  encountered.  He  seemed 
doomed  to  taste  every  bitter  experience  of  the  book- 
seller's hack  before  the  chance  came  to  him  of  showing 
that  a  genuine  humorist  and  a  singularly  keen  observer 
of  character  and  manners  had  lain  concealed  and  unsus- 
pected amid  the  dreary  waste  of  compilation  and  book- 
making. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  over  forty  years  of  age  that  his 
opportunity  came.  In  1820  Blackwood  accepted  The 
Ayrshire  Legatees  for  his  Magazine.  But  though  first 
published,  it  was  not  earliest  written.  It  was  the  success 
of  the  Blackwood  story  that  encouraged  Gait  to  search  for 
and  complete  an  earlier  venture,  which  he  had  abandoned 
in  consequence  of  the  unfavourable  opinion  of  a  publisher 
to  whom  he  had  submitted  it.     The  incident,  which  in 

viii 


INTRODUCTION 


some  respects  resembles  the  ever  memorable  story  of  Walter 
Scott  and  the  I Fai'^r/ey. manuacr.pX,  found  among  the  fishing- 
tackle,  should  be  told  in  Gait's  own  words:  — 


'  T/u  Ayrshire  Legatees  was  published  before  the  Annals  of  (he 
Parish,  but  the  latter  was  the  earlier  written,  and  the  history  of  it  is 
curious.  When  very  young  I  wished  to  write  a  book  that  would  be 
for  Scotland  what  'J'he  Vicar  of  Wakefield  is  for  England,  and  early 
began  to  observe  in  what  respects  the  minister  of  a  parish  differed 
from  the  general  inhabitants  of  the  country.  The  study,  however, 
was  not  pursued  with  any  particular  intensity;  the  opportunity  indeed 
was  wanting,  for  our  town  was  large,  and  the  clergyman  in  it  too 
urbane  to  furnish  a  model.  The  l:)cau-i<leal  of  a  rural  pastor  never 
presented  itself  to  me,  but  I  heard  from  others  descriptions  of  the 
character  of  individuals  by  which  1  was  furnished  with  many 
hints. 

'  One  Sunday,  happening  to  take  a  solitary  walk  in  the  neighbour- 
ing village  of  Inverkip,  I  oVjserved  that  from  the  time  I  had  been 
there  before,  some  progress  had  been  made  in  turning  it  inside  out. 
The  alteration  was  undoubtedly  a  great  improvement,  but  the  place 
seemed  to  me  neither  so  picturesque  nor  so  primitive  as  the  old  town, 
and  I  could  not  refrain  from  lamenting  the  change,  as  one  sighs  over 
the  grave  of  an  old  man.  While  looking  at  the  various  improvements 
around,  my  intention  of  writing  a  minister's  sedate  adventures  re- 
turned upon  me  suddenly,  and  I  felt  something  like  that  glow  with 
which  Rousseau  conceived  his  essay  on  the  arts  and  sciences.  I  re- 
solved to  make  the  schoolmaster  of  the  village  the  recorder  of  a 
register. 

'  Business,  with  other  cares  and  vicissitudes,  suspended  the  design 
for  many  years,  but  it  was  constantly  remembered,  though  not  carried 
into  effect  till  the  year  1813,  when  I  perceived  that  the  plan  of  a 
schoolmaster's  register  would  not  suit,  so  I  altered  my  design  into 
the  Annals  of  the  Parish. 

'  When  the  work  was  nearly  finished  I  wrote  to  my  old  acquaint- 
ance Constable,  the  bookseller,  what  I  was  about,  but  he  gave  me  no 
encouragement  to  proceed:  Scottish  novels,  he  said,  would  not  do, 
for  at  that  time  Waverley  was  not  published,  nor  if  it  had  been,  was 
there  any  resemblance  between  my  work  and  that  celebrated  pro- 

ix 


INTRODUCTION 


duction.  In  consequence,  however,  of  his  letter  the  unfinished  manu- 
script was  thrown  into  a  drawer  and  forgotten. 

'  Years  after,  I  took  it  into  my  head  one  Sunday  to  set  my  papers 
in  Older,  and  among  them  the  minister's  chronicle  was  found;  I  read 
it  over,  as  an  entire  stranger  would  do,  and  it  struck  me  as  possessed 
of  some  merit.  After  dinner.  I  read  passages  to  a  friend  who  dined 
with  me,  and  he  was  equally  pleased.  I  then  sent  it  to  Blackwood, 
by  whom  it  was  published. 

'  Some  of  the  individuals  who  have  been  the  models  of  the  char- 
acters were,  on  the  publication,  at  once  recognised,  which  tended  to 
corroborate  the  favourable  opinion  I  had  myself  formed  of  the  work; 
but  although  the  story  was  suggested  by  the  improvements  of  Inver- 
kip,  the  scene  is  actually  laid  in  the  "  whereabouts  "  of  the  village  of 
Dreghorn,  in  AyrsVi're.  In  a  still  evening  I  sometimes  think  of  its 
beautiful  church,  amidst  a  clump  of  trees,  with,  as  Rogers  says, 

"  Its  taper  spire  that  points  to  heaven," 

Nor  is  the  locality  to  me  uninteresting,  as  it  happens  to  be  the  burial- 
place  of  my  forbears.* 

In  a  later  work  of  Gait's,  supplementary  to  his  Autobio- 
graphy, he  adds  a  few  details  to  his  account  of  the  origin  of 
this,  his  first  and  most  memorable  achievement  in  literature. 
He  wished  it  to  be,  he  says,  a  picture  of  society  in  the  west 
of  Scotland  during  the  reign  of  George  the  Third,  and  he 
adds  that  he  had  no  idea  it  would  ever  have  been  received 
as  a  novel.  More  than  once  elsewhere  Gait  expresses  the 
same  wonder,  and  is  evidently  a  little  hurt  that  a  picture 
of  society  which  was  so  far  from  being  a  'novel '  should 
have  been  valued  by  the  public  above  his  longer  and  more 
complex  roman-ies,  such  as  Sir  Andrew  Wylie.  But  Gait 
was  here  misconceiving  the  true  nature  of  his  own  genius. 
In  his  later,  more  elaborate  stories  he  had  no  models  on 
which  to  build  himself  but  a  school  of  fiction  to  which 
Walter  Scott  was  doing  more  than  any  one  else  to  give  the 
coup  de grace.     What  Charles  Lamb  called  the  *  innutritious 

X 


INTRODUCTION 

phantoms '  of  the  Minerva  Press  were  to  be  laid  for  ever 
by  the  'happier  genius'  of  IVaver/ey  and  its  successors. 
Gait's  genius  was  not  of  that  sort  which  can  construct 
a  new  body  as  well  as  a  new  soul  for  its  creations.  In 
painting  on  a  large  and  crowded  canvas  he  has  to  fall 
back  upon  effects  that  had  done  duty  in  a  thousand 
compositions  before.  Outside  the  range  of  his  own  rare 
and  genuine  gifts  he  has  to  follow  the  outworn  examples 
of  inferior  men.  Hence  Gait's  longer  fictions,  rich  as  they 
are  in  strokes  of  his  own  peculiar  humour,  have  already 
become  old-fashioned.  And  moreover,  when  he  attempts 
character-drawing  beyond  the  scope  of  his  own  observa- 
tion,— when  he  has  to  draw  from  books  instead  of  from 
life, — his  personages  are  oftea  conventional  and  artificial. 
There  is  a  certain  nobleman  who  plays  a  leading  part 
in  Sir  Andrew  Wy/ie,  one  Lord  Sandyfort.  whose  modes 
of  expression  never  had  any  parallel  save  in  the  melo- 
drama of  Fitzball  or  Alfred  Bunn.  This  is  how  the  Earl 
moralises,  after  an  interview  with  the  "hrewd  and  honest 
:ottish  clerk,  whose  speech  is  the  kindly  dialect  of  his 


o«-. 


native  Ayrshire: — 


' "  I  have  hitherto  lived  among  machines,"  said  the  Earl  in  solilo- 
qu",  moving  from  the  spot,  and  throwing  himself  carelessly  on  a  sofa; 
"but  this  is  a  human  being:  it  has  brains,  in  wbir;>  thought  rises 
naturally  as  water-wells  from  the  ground,  the  wholesome  element  of 
temperance;  it  has  a  heart  too,  and  in  this  little  discourse  has  shown 
more  of  man  than  all  the  bearded  bipeds  I  have  ever  met  with.  What 
am  I  to  him  that  he  should  take  such  brotherly  interest  in  my  desola- 
tion? And  how  should  he  know  that  it  is  caused  by  my  wife?  My 
wife! — what  wife?  I  have  no  wife;  scarcely  so  much  of  one  as 
Othello  had  when  he  had  slain  the  gentle  Desdemona."  And  in  say- 
ing these  words  his  lordship  rolled  his  head  over  towards  the  Uck 
of  the  sofa,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  lay  seem- 
ingl)  asleep.' 

xi 


fmrn 


INTRODUCTION 


Now  we  know  that  earls  do  not  talk  in  this  strain  except 
in  fiction,  and  it  was  to  romances  and  plays  (he  was  greatlv 
addicted  to  the  latter)  that  Gait  ha^^  to  resort  in  his  more 
elaborate  novels  to  supplement  his  own  experience.  And 
it  is  this  element  in  them,  and  his  adoption  of  melo- 
dramatic incidents  and  machineries  that  makes  Gait, 
as  I  have  said,  so  often  *  artificial. '  It  is  not  the  mere 
lapse  of  time  that  constitutes  old  fashion.  The  char- 
acters and  manners  of  the  Annals  of  the  Parish  are  those 
of  the  reign  of  George  the  Third.  But  then  they  were 
drawn  from  the  life,  and  the  narrative  form  adopted  by 
the  writer  required  no  assistance  from  plot  or  intrigue, 
and  the  result  is  that  everything  in  the  village  hibwory  is  as 
fresh,  as  real,  as  delightful  as  on  the  day  of  its  appear- 
ance. Such  is  the  reward,  in  prose  as  in  verse,  of  'humble 
truth.' 

Gait,  as  we  have  seen,  had  indulged  the  hope  that  he 
might  achieve  in  his  Rev.  Micah  Balwhidder,  the  minister 
of  Dalmailing,  what  Goldsmith  had  done  for  England  in 
his  Dr.  Primrose.  And  it  may  surprise  many  of  the  novel- 
reading  public  of  our  day,  to  whom  Gait  is  little  more  than 
a  name,  to  learn  for  the  first  time  how  far  from  presumptu- 
ous Gait  was  in  cherishing  this  ambition.  As  an  autobio- 
graphical revelation  of  character  the  chief  personage  of 
this.  Gait's  masterpiece,  has  seldom  been  surpassed.  And 
the  degree  of  Gait's  success  must  be  measured  by  the  fact 
that  the  task  he  essayed  was  to  draw  a  commonplace 
character,  and  to  create  interest  by  virtue  of  that  very 
commonplaceness.  The  elements  in  Micah  Balwhidder' s 
character  are  so  'kindly  mixed '  that  none  predominate. 
He  has  no  eccentricities,  no  peculiarities  to  distinguish 
him  from  a  thousand  other  men  holding  a  like  position. 
He  is  a  study  of  the  average  man.     He  is  not  clever,  and 

xii 


INTRODUCTION 


he  is  aware  of  the  fact.  He  never  forgets  that  his  par- 
ishioners do  not  regard  him  as  a  burning  and  a  shining  light 
— that  they  even  bitterly  resetted  his  having  been  originally 
set  over  them  by  the  'patron,' — but  he  is  no  whit  dis- 
couraged or  mortified.  His  kindly  feeling  towards  his 
people  is  never  chilled  or  soured  by  the  circumstance. 
He  accepts  his  inferiority  in  this  respect  as  itself  a  talent, 
and  labours  faithfully  to  neutralise  the  prejudice  against 
him,  and  win  kindly  opinions  as  a  prelude  to  the  nobler 
harvest  of  souls.  He  is  in  the  best  of  ways  truly  humble, 
for  he  is  a  good  man;  but  while  concurring  in  the  popular 
estimate  of  his  gifts,  he  has  that  *gude  conceit '  of  himself 
without  which  no  man,  I  suppose,  ever  did  much  good 
work  in  the  world.  He  is  a  master  of  the  whole  gamut  of 
pulpit  rhetoric,  and  falls  into  the  familiar  strain  whenever 
he  has  to  record  the  events  of  his  parish  and  the  earthly 
fv>rtunes  of  his  flock.  He  is  proud  of  his  skill  in  improving 
national  or  local  occasions,  and  his  felicitous  choice  of 
texts.  He  takes  evident  pride  in  the  steadfastness  of 
purpose  which  made  him,  on  one  such,  preach  sixteen 
times  from  the  words,  'Render  unto  Caesar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar's; '  and  in  his  closing  years  he  rejoices  to 
find  that  the  preaching  power  in  him  shows  no  abatement, 
and  that  he  can  easily  hold  forth  for  half  an  hour  longer 
than  formerly.  And  we  feel  sure  that  Thomas  Thorl  was 
*a  great  judge  of  good  preaching'  when  he  described  the 
minister's  sermon  about  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children  as 
*a  monument  of  divinity  whilk  searched  the  heart  of  many 
a  parent  that  day, '  when  the  small-pox  had  been  making 
havoc  among  the  'weans  of  the  parish.' 

It  is,  indeed,  this  blending  throughout  of  inconsist- 
encies, vanity  and  humility,  intellectual  mediocrity  and 
a  shrewd  but  kindly  eye  to  the  main  chance,  of  alternate 

xiii 


INTRODUCTION 

simplicity  and  canniness,  that  makes  the  humour  and  charm 
of  this  engaging  figure.  His  matrimonial  experiences  with 
the  first,  second,  and  third  Mrs.  Balwhidders  are  all  in 
their  way  fascinating.  Of  the  first,  indeed,  there  is  little  to 
relate — a  manage  de  convetiance  with  his  own  cousin.  Miss 
Betty  Lanshaw — a  union  arising  'more  out  of  a  com- 
passionate habitual  affection  than  the  passion  of  love.' 
We  hear  little  of  her  till  her  death,  which  first  calls  into 
play  her  husband's  dormant  belief  in  the  poetic  faculty 
within  him.  A  recent  I^tin  inscription  on  the  laird's 
monument  in  the  kirk  at  first  suggests  a  rival  effort  in  the 
same  direction,  but  the  idea  is  properly  abandoned,  'as 
Mrs.  Balwhidder,  worthy  woman  as  she  was,  did  not  under- 
stand the  Latin  tongue ' ;  and,  moreover,  Latin  proving, 
as  the  bereaved  husband  found  'in  the  experimenting,' 
'a  crabbed  language  and  very  difficult  to  write  properly.* 
The  epitaph  is  accordingly  composed  in  English,  and  is 
given  in  extenso,  opening  with  the  lines — 

'  A  lovely  Christian,  spouse,  and  friend, 
Pleasant  in  life,  and  at  her  end. 
A  pale  consumption  dealt  the  blow 
That  laid  her  here,  with  dust  below.' 


The  achievement  'was  greatly  thought  of  at  the  time,'  and 
it  was  doubtless  the  fame  it  brought  to  its  author  that 
suggested  to  the  widower  in  his  solitude  the  thought  of 
writing  a  book  as  a  diversion  from  his  melancholy.  'Some- 
times I  thought  of  an  orthodox  pcem,  like  Paradise  Lost, 
by  John  Milton,  wherein  I  proposed  to  treat  more  at  large 
of  Original  Sin  and  the  great  mystery  of  Redemption;  at 
others  I  fancied  that  a  connect  treatise  on  the  efficacy 
of  Free  Grace  would  be  more  taking;  but  although  I  made 
divers  beginnings  in  both  subjects,  some  new  thought  ever 

xiv 


I 


INTRODUCTION 


and 

that 

ht  of 

Some- 

Losfj 

large 

Dn;  at 

fficacy 

made 

t  ever 


% 


came  into  my  head,  and  the  whole  summer  passed  away 
and  nothing  was  done.' 

It  is  obvious  that  in  this  state  of  forlorn  helplessness — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  servant  lasses  who,  'having  no  eye  of 
a  mistress  over  them,  wastered  everything  at  such  a  rate ' 
— a  new  helpmate  must,  after  a  becoming  interval,  be 
sought.  The  second  Mrs.  Balwhidder  was  chosen,  like 
Mrs.  Primrose,  for  the  qualities  that  'wear';  and  she 
indeed  develops  such  extraordinary  industry,  and  such  a 
talent  for  money-making,  that  the  husband  is  sorely  divided 
in  spirit  between  gratification  at  his  improving  fortunes,  and 
an  uneasy  misgiving  whether  'he  had  got  the  manse  merely 
to  be  a  factory  of  butter  and  cheese,  and  to  breed  up  veal 
calves  for  the  slaughter.'  There  is  nothing,  indeed,  in 
the  Annals  more  genuinely  original  and  humorous  than 
these  domestic  incidents,  and  the  light  these  conjugal 
complications  throw  on  the  character  of  the  narrator. 
Sometimes  this  fine  observation  of  human  nature  is 
exhibited  in  so  casual  a  way  that  a  careless  reader  may 
easily  let  it  pass.  There  is  a  single  parenthesis  about  the 
second  Mrs.  Balwhidder  w!iich  all  but  reveals  the  whole 
personality  of  the  woman  in  a  flash.  'The  roads  were 
just  a  sheet  of  ice,  like  a  frozen  river;  insomuch,  that  the 
coal-carts  could  not  work;  and  one  of  our  cows  (Mrs. 
Balwhidder  said,  after  the  accident,  it  was  our  best,  but  it 
was  not  so  much  thought  of  before),  fell  in  coming  from 
the  glebe  to  the  byre,  and  broke  its  two  hinder  legs,  which 
obligated  us  to  kill  it,  in  order  to  put  the  beast  out  of 
pain.'  But  even  here 'the  soul  of  goodness  in  things  in 
evil '  is  not  overlooked.  'As  this  happened  after  we  had 
salted  our  mart,  it  occasioned  us  to  have  a  double  crop 
of  puddings,  and  such  a  show  of  hams  in  the  kitchen  as 
was  a  marvel  to  our  visitors  to  see. ' 

XV 


INTRODUCTION 


The  Annals  of  the  Parish  is  by  general  consent  Gait's 
masterpiece,  and  the  reasons  are  not  far  to  seek.  He 
possessed  every  gift  and  quality  which  go  to  make  the 
success  of  a  parochial  record  such  as  he  here  proposed. 
Early  practice  both  in  prose  and  metre  had  given  him  com- 
mand of  a  style  clear,  harmonious,  and  flexible,  combined 
with  the  Defoe-like  simplicity  that  makes  the  narrative 
absolutely  credible.  His  humour,  and  evident  enjoyment 
of  his  humour,  are  without  caricature,  and  he  resisted 
every  temptation  to  overdo  his  pathos.  Although  in  his 
more  elaborate  fictions  the  necessity  of  constructing  a  plot 
often  led  Gait  outside  the  true  field  of  his  powers,  he  was 
not  without  a  fine  artistic  sense  of  the  need  of  balance  and 
contrast  even  in  relating  what  purports  to  be  an  unordered 
sequence  of  events;  and  besides  the  unity  given  to  the 
whole  by  the  share  of  the  narrator  himself  in  these 
events,  the  story  of  the  gentle  and  saintly  Mrs.  Malcolm 
and  her  family  runs  like  a  golden  thread  through  the 
shifting  humours  and  eccentricities  of  the  parishioners,  and 
gives  strength  and  dignity,  as  well  as  a  connected  interest, 
to  the  whole.  To  what  extent,  if  any,  Mrs.  Gaskell  was 
indebted  to  Gait  the  present  writer  is  unaware,  but  the 
method  and  the  art  of  the  village  annais  of  Cranford  bear 
no  small  resemblance  to  those  of  Dalmaiiing.  The  incident 
of  the  Muscovy  duck  and  the  means  adopted  for  its  relief 
is  a  worthy  pendant  to  the  sad  case  of  the  cow  in  the 
flannel  dressing-gown.  The  whole  episode  of  Mr.  Cayennej 
(a  name  that  Thackeray  might  have  envied)  is  masterly- 
from  the  first  day  when  he  could  hardly  wait  for  the  bless-j 
ing  to  be  asked  before  swearing  at  his  blackamoor,  to  thalj 
last  grim  and  daring  picture  of  a  death-bed — truly  a  stroke 
of  genius.  Had  Gait  always  been  up  to  this  level  he  wouk 
have  ranked  with  the  greatest  name3  in  English  fiction] 

xvi 


INTRODUCTION 


onsent  Gait's 
;o  seek.     He 
to  make  the 
ere  proposed, 
iven  him  com- 
Lble,  combined 
i  the  narrative 
lent  enjoyment 
nd  he  resisted 
athough  in  his 
tstructing  a  plot 
;  powers,  he  was 
i  of  balance  and 
be  an  unordered 
ity  given  to  the 
imseli    in   these 
tly  Mrs.  Malcolm 
•ead  through  the 
parishioners,  and 
jnnected  interest, 
l^rs.  Gaskell  was 
unaware,  but  the 
of  Cranford  bear 
ng.    The  incident 
fpted  for  its  relief 
)f  the  cow  in  the 
Ae  of  Mr.  Cayenne 
ied)  is  masterly- 
wait  for  the  bless- 
jlackamoor,  to  that 
-bed-truly  a  stroke 
3  this  level  he  would 

in  English  fiction. 


Scarcely  inferior  are  the  incidents  of  Lady  Macndam  and 
her  companion  Kate  Malcolm,  and  of  Jenny  Gaffaw  and 
her  half-witted  daughter,  though  in  the  latter,  perhaps,  is 
to  be  traced  something  of  the  falsetto  sentiment  of  Sterne 
and  his  follower  Mackenzie. 

The  obvious  companion  to  the  Annals  of  the  Parish 
would  be  The  Provost,  this  latter  being  also  an  autobio- 
graphical presentment  of  humorous  character — the  method 
which  was  so  precisely  suited  to  Gait's  genius,  that  The 
Provost  justly  ranks  as  next'  in  value  to  the  former  work. 
But  for  the  present  volume  choice  has  been  made,  and  I 
think  wisely,  of  another  to  bear  it  company,  as  exhibiting 
Gait's  powers  in  a  different  line.  The  Ayrshire  Legatees  is 
the  only  one  of  its  author's  fictions  that  actually  invites 
comparison — in  form,  at  least — with  the  work  of  another 
novelist.  The  story  such  as  it  is,  is  again  in  the  form  of 
'annals,'  if  indeed  that  term  can  be  applied  to  the  incidents 
of  a  few  months.  And  not  only  the  machinery  adopted — 
a  series  of  letters  from  members  of  a  family  on  their  travels 
I — bui  the  very  distribution  of  the  characters  is  borrowed 
I  without  disguise  from  Smollett's  latest  fiction,  Humphrey 
Clinker.  It  is  indeed  a  kind  of  Humphrey  Clinker  with  the 
:itle-character  emitted.  Gait,  referring  to  the  book  in  his 
lUtobiography,  is  reticent  on  the  point.  The  choice  of 
:haracters  runs  curiously  parallel  with  those  of  Smollett's 
lovel,  the  Ayrshire  minister  and  his  wife.  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
'ringle,  taking  the  place  of  Matthew  and  Tabitha  Bramble, 
rhile  the  son  and  daughter  of  the  Pringles  are  clearly 
lodelled  upon  the  Melfords,  brother  and  sister,  who  supply 
le  more  serious  interest  in  Humphrey  Clinker.  Winifred 
lenkins  has  indeed  no  exact  counterpart  among  Gait's 
|ersonages,  though  her  famous  eccentricities  of  spelling,  as 
[ell  as  her  Malapropisms,  are  partially  reproduced  in  the 

xvii 


INTRODUCTION 


epistolary  style  of  Mrs.  Pringle.  Gait  while  taking  his 
general  idea  from  Smollett,  claims  to  have  drawn  his  four 
correspondents  from  the  life.     He  writes : — 

'  The  Ayrshire  Legatees  appeared  at  different  times  in  Blackwood's 
Magazine^  and  the  characters,  as  those  in  the  Annals  of  the  Parish^ 
are  portraits.  Mrs.  Pringle  is  drawn  from  my  mother,  and  was  recog- 
nised by  herself  with  some  surprise  and  good-humour.  Young  Pringle, 
however,  is  nuc  altogether  a  portrait;  he  is  represented  as  a  Tory 
Scottish  advocate  of  the  ultra  class,  and  as  such  imbued  with  antipa- 
thies that  have  their  origin  in  political  opinions;  under  a  shadow  of 
candour  he  has  strong  prejudices.  It  is  necessary  to  say  this  here, 
because  it  has  been  supposed  that  his  letters  contain  my  own  senti- 
ments; this,  however,  is  not  the  case,  for  although  always  a  moderate 
Tory,  I  have  never  been  able  to  discern  that  there  was  aught  in  politi- 
cal persuasions  different  from  my  own  to  justify  enmity.  My  best 
friends  have  been  Whigs,  and  the  Tories  I  have  always  thought  by  far 
too  intractable.  I  never  could  discover  that  the  bias  of  dispositions 
should  be  ascribed  to  principles.  The  portrait  of  Aidrew  Pringle 
is  a  composition,  and  I  am  not  aware  that  the  attributes  of  any  one 
particular  character  predominate.' 

The  Ayrshire  Legatees^  like  its  prototype,  has  other 
interest  for  us  than  that  of  the  humours  of  an  unsophisti- 
cated family  on  their  travels.  As  Smollett  provides  the 
historian  with  valuable  sketches  of  Bristol,  Bath,  and 
London  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  so  Gait,  by 
fixing  the  date  of  the  Pringles'  adventures  in  the  years 
1820-21,  is  able  to  record  their  impressions  of  the  stormy 
season  of  George  the  Third's  death,  and  the  divorce 
proceedings  of  his  successor  against  Queen  Caroline. 
Gait  was  himself  living  in  London  during  this  period,  and 
obviously  wrote  his  impressions  as  the  events  passed  daily 
before  his  eyes.  Indeed  the  incident  of  the  Legacy,  as  he 
himself  admits,  was  merely  the  occasion  for  bringing  a  family 
of  country  cousins  to  London  to  see  the  'Lions.'     And  he 

xviii 


INTRODUCTION 


:ing  his 
his  four 


ackwoocVs 
he  Parish, 
was  recog- 
ng  Pringle, 

as  a  Tory 
ath  antipa- 

shadow  of 
J  this  here, 

own  senti- 

a  moderate 
rht  in  poiiti- 
).  My  best 
ought  by  far 

dispositions 
Irew  Pringle 
s  of  any  one 


doubtless  chose  the  particular  juncture  as  being  crowded 
with  events  of  public  interest  certain  to  be  attractive  to  his 
readers  in  Scotland. 

It  was  the  success  of  this  work  as  it  passed  through  the 
pages  of  Blackwood  that,  as  we  have  seen,  brought  the 
half-written  Annals  of  the  Parish  out  of  its  pigeon-hole  into 
the  light  of  day,  and  made  the  reputation,  though  not  the 
fortune  of  John  Gait.  The  two  stories  led  to  a  multitude  of 
successors,  but  with  the  p(  sible  exception  of  The  Provost, 
none  of  equal  mark.  He  began  to  paint  upon  a  larger 
canvas,  and  the  larger  canvas  did  not  suit  his  genius.  His 
more  elaborate  fictions,  though  never  without  strokes  of  his 
admirable  humour,  his  perception  of  character,  and  remark- 
able descriptive  poA^er,  lose  through  their  very  elaboration 
the  charm  that  rests  still,  and  for  all  time,  on  the  short 
and  simple  annals  of  Dalmailing.  Gait  had  among  many 
fine  qualities  indefatigable  industry.  Like  Walter  Scott,  he 
had  to  look  to  literature  to  compensate  for  ill-success  in 
commercial  ventures,  and  like  Scott  he  paid  the  penalty  of 
overtaxed  powers  and  almost  at  the  same  age.  He  was 
only  sixty  when  he  died  of  gradual  decay  following  on 
paralysis,  in  April  1839. 

Gait  stands  somewhat  apart  from  the  recognised  gene- 
alogy of  the  British  novel.  It  is  not  easy  to  determine  his 
immediate  progenitors.  He  borrowed  the  form  of  one  of 
his  fictions  from  Smollett,  but  there  are  few  other  traces  of 
indebtedness  to  that  writer.  Smollett,  though  by  no  means 
an  immoral  writer,  had  a  curious  leaning  towards  the  coarser 
details  of  human  life,  and  from  this  taint  Gait  is  wholly  free. 
To  Scott  he  owed  absolutely  nothing,  for  his  first  story, 
in  which  lay  the  germ  of  every  quality  distinguishing  its 
successors,  was  schemed  and  half  composed  some  years 
before  the  appearance  of  Waverley.     His  true  Burnsian 

xix 


I'     r 


nSTTRODUCriON 

sense  of  drollery  prevented  his  being  *sicklied-o'er,'  save 
here  and  there,  with  the  sentimentalism  then  still  in  vogue, 
and  only  in  such  experiments  as  The  Omen  does  he  gratify 
the  lingering  taste  for  the  supernatural,  which  in  the  pages  of 
Mrs.  K^dcliffe  had  so  fascinated  the  generation  of  Catherine 
Morland  and  her  friends.  Gait,  though  he  wrote  much 
about  himself,  is  not  decisive  as  to  the  literary  influences 
under  which  he  became  a  novelist.  He  tells  us  that  The 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  suggested  the  companion  study  of  a 
Scottish  minister,  but  the  essential  difference  in  national 
characteristics  prevented  Micah  Balwhidder  from  being  in 
any  sense  a  plagiarism  from  Dr.  Primrose.  Both  characters 
are  marked  by  simplicity  and  self-complacency,  but  these 
qualities  bear  such  different  fruit  in  different  soils.  In 
another  passage,  however,  of  his  Autobiography  Gait  tells 
us  that  as  a  boy  he  had  read,  with  a  schoolmaster,  the 
Spectator  and  Gil  Bias,  and  to  such  good  purpose  that  he 
had  never  had  occasion  in  after  life  to  refresh  his  recol- 
lections of  these  works.  Le  Sage,  Smollett,  Addison, 
Goldsmith — it  was  in  these  that  Dickens  also  was  to  find 
his  inspiration  and  impulse,  and  on  his  more  limited  plot  of 
ground  Gait  gathered  from  the  seed  thus  sown  a  harvest,  in 
its  measure,  not  less  remarkable.  Gait  remains,  I  fear, 
little  more  than  a  name  even  to  the  omnivorous  novel-reader 
in  England.  Perhaps,  had  he,  like  Goldsmith,  written  but 
a  single  story,  he  would  have  been  long  ago  a  classic,  and 
the  incidents  and  characters  of  the  Annals  of  the  Parish 
familiar  as  household  words.  It  is  a  noticeable  circum- 
stance that  the  present  reprint  coincides  with  a  marked 
revival  of  interest  in  Scottish  character  and  manners.  We 
owe  this  largely  to  such  admirable  pictures  of  these  as  Mr. 
Barrie's,  whose  masterpiece,  A  Window  in  Thrums,  owes 
its  success  to  the  dominance  of  character  over  plot  —  char- 

XX 


INTRODUCTION 

acter  drawn  with  consummate  humour  and  pathos.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  hope  that  Gait's  earlier  study  of  life  in  a, 
Scottish  parish,  in  its  different  way  no  less  a  masterpiece, 
may  once  more  receive  a  welcome  proportionate  to  its 
unquestionable  truth  and  charm. 


XXI 


!     - 


( 


CONTENTS 


ANNALS  OF  THE   PARISH 


Introduction 


Page  I 


CHAPTER   I— Year    1760 

The  placing  of  Mr.  Balwhidder-The  resistance  of  the  parishioners- 
Mrs.  Malcolm,  the  widow— Mr.  Balwhidder's  marriage         .        5 

CHAPTER  II— Year   1761 

The  great  increase  of  smuggling— Mr.  Balwhidder  disperses  a  tea- 
drinking  party  of  gossips— He  records  the  virtues  of  Nanse  Banks, 
the  schoolmistress— The  servant  of  a  military  man,  who  had 
been  prisoner  in  France,  comes  into  the  parish,  and  opens  a 
dancing-school 


CHAPTER  III— Year   1762 

Havoc  produced  by  the  small-pox-Charles  Malcolm  is  sent  off  a 
cabui-boy  on  a  voyage  to  Virginia— Mizy  Spaewell  dies  on 
Halloween— Tea  begins  to  be  admitted  at  the  manse,  but  the 
mmisf-r  continues  to  exert  his  authority  against  smuggling   .       16 


CHAPTER  IV— Year   1763 

Charles  Malcolm's  return  from  sea— Kate  Malcolm  is  taken  to  live 
with  Lady  Macadam— Death  of  the  first  Mrs.  Balwhidder     .      20 

xxiii 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

CHAPTER  V— Year   1764 

He  gets  a  headstone  for  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  and  writes  an  epitaph  for 
it — He  is  afflicted  with  melancholy,  and  thinks  of  writing  a 
book — Nichol  Snipe  the  gamekeeper's  device  when  reproved  in 
church Page  24 

CHAPTER  VI— Year  1765 

Establishment  of  a  whisky  distillery — He  is  again  married  to  Miss 
Lizy  Kibbock — Her  industry  in  the  dairy — Her  example  diffuses 
a  spirit  of  industry  through  the  parish 29 

CHAPTER  Vn— Year   1766 

The  burning  of  the  Breadland — A  new  bell,  and  also  a  steeple — Nanse 
Birrel  found  drowned  in  a  well — ^The  parish  troubled  with  wild 
Irishmen ^3 

CHAPTER  VIII— Year   1767 

Lord  Eglesham  meets  with  an  accident,  which  is  the  means  of  getting 
the  parish  a  new  road — I  preach  for  the  benefit  of  Nanse  Banks, 
the  schoolmistress,  reduced  to  poverty 39 

CHAPTER  IX— Year   1768 

Lord  Eglesham  uses  his  interest  in  favour  cf  Charles  Malcolm — ^The 
finding  of  a  new  schoolmistress — Miss  Sabrina  Hookie  gciS  the 
place — Change  of  fashions  in  the  parish        ....      44 


CHAPTER  X— Year   1769 

A  toad  found  in  the  heart  of  a  stone — Robert  Malcolm,  who  had  b  in 
at  sea,  returns  from  a  northern  voyage-  -Kate  Malcolm's  clandes- 
tine correspondence  with  Lady  Macadam's  son     ...      48 

xxiv 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    XI— Yfar    1770 

This  year  a  happy  and  tranquil  one — Lord  Eglesham  establishes  a  fair 
in  the  village — The  show  of  Punch  appears  for  the  first  time  in 
the  parish Page  53 


CHAPTER  Xn— Year   1771 

The  nature  of  Lady  Macadam's  amusements — She  intercepts  letters 
from  her  son  to  Kate  Malcolm 54 


CHAPTER  Xni— Year   1772 

The  detection  of  Mr.  Heckletext's  guilt — He  threatens  to  prosecute 
the  elders  for  defamation — ^The  Muscovy  duck  gets  an  operation 
performed  on  it 59 

CHAPTER  XIV— Year   1773 

The  new  schoolhouse — Lord  Eglesham  comes  down  to  the  castle — I 
refuse  to  gc*  and  dine  there  on  Sunday,  but  go  on  Monday,  and 
meet  with  an  English  dean 63 

CHAPTER    XV— Year   1774 

The  murder  of  Jean  Glaikit — ^The  young  Laird  Macadam  comes  down 
and  marries  Kate  Malcolm — ^The  ceremony  performed  by  me, 
and  I  am  commissioned  to  break  the  matter  to  Lady  Macadam — 
Her  behaviour 67 

CHAPTER  XVI— Year   1775 

Captain  Macadam  provides  a  house  and  an  annuity  for  old  Mrs. 
Malcolm — Miss  Betty  Wudrife  brings  from  Edinburgh  a  new- 
fashioned  silk  mantle,  but  refuses  to  give  the  pattern  to  old  Lady 
Macadam — Her  revenge 71 

XXV 


fT 


•I  i 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER  XVII— Year   1776 

A  recruiting  party  comes  to  Irville — ^Thomas  Wilson  and  some  others 
enlist — Charles  Malcolm's  return Page  75 


CHAPTER  XVIII— Year   1777 

Old  Widow  Mirkland — Bloody  accounts  of  the  war — He  gets  a  news- 
paper— Great  flood 80 


CHAPTER  XIX— Year   1778 

Revival  of  the  smuggling  trade — Betty  and  Janet  Pawkie,  and  Robin 
Bicker,  an  exciseman,  come  to  the  parish — Their  doings — Robin 
is  succeeded  by  Mungo  Argyle — Lord  Eglesham  assists  William 
Malcolm 84 


CHAPTER    XX— Year   1779 

He  goes  to  Edinburgh  to  attend  the  General  Assembly — Preaches 
before  the  Commissioner 89 


CHAPTER  XXI— Year   1780 
Lord  George  Gordon — Report  of  an  illumination 


94 


I 


t 


CHAPTER  XXII— Year   1781 

Argyle,  the  exciseman,  grows  a  gentleman — Lord  Eglesham's  con- 
cubine— His  death — ^The  parish  children  afflicted  with  the 
measles 96 


CHAPTER  XXIII— Year   1782 

News  of  the  victory  over  the   French  fleet — He  has  to  inform  Mrs 
Ma'colm  of  the  death  of  her  son  Charles  in  the  engagement .     100 

xxvi 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XXIV- Year   1783 
Janet  Gaffaw's  death  and  burial    . 


Page  102 


CHAPTER  XXV-Year   1784 
A  year  of  sunshine  and  pleasantness     .... 


»0S 


CHAPTER  XXVI- Year   1785 

Mr.  Cayenne  conies  to  the  parish-A  passionate  character-His  out- 
rageous behaviour  at  the  Session-house         .         .         .         .107 

CHAPTER  XXVII-Year    1786 

Repairs  required  for  the  manse-By  the  sagacious  management  of  Mr. 
Kibbock,  the  heritors  are  made  to  give  a  new  manse  altogether— 
They  begin,  however,  to  look  upon  me  with  a  grudge,  which  pro- 
vokes me  to  claim  an  augmentation,  which  I  obtain      .         .     i  u 

CHAPTER  XXVIII— Year   1787 

Lady  Macadam's  house  is  changed  into  an  inn-The  making  of  jelly 
becomes  common  in  the  parish-Meg  Gaffaw  is  present  at  a  pay- 
ment  of  victual — Her  behaviour    . 

•  •  •  .1  1^ 


CHAPTER  XXIX— Year   1788 

A  cotton-mill  is  built-The  new  spirit  which  it  introduces  among  the 
P^°P^^ ,17 

CHAPTER  XXX-Year   1789 

William   Malcolm  comes  to  the  parish  and  preaches-lTie  opinions 

upon  his  sermon   . 

•         •  •  .         .      121 

xxvii 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER  XXXI— Year   1790 

A  bookseller's  shop  is  set  up  among  the  nouses  of  the  weavers  at 
Cayenneville Page  122 

CHAPTER  XXXII— Year   1791 

I  place  my  son  Gilbert  in  a  counting-house  at  Glasgow — My  observa- 
tions on  Glasgow — On  my  return  I  preach  against  the  vanity  of 
riches,  and  begin  to  be  taken  for  a  black-neb  .        -125 

CHAPTER  XXXIII— Year    1792 

Troubled  with  low  spirits — Accidental  meeting  with  Mr.  Cayenne,  who 
endeavours  to  remove  the  prejudices  entertained  against  me .     127 

CHAPTER  XXXIV— Year   1793 

I  dream  a  remarkable  dream,  and  preach  a  sermon  in  consequence, 
applying  to  the  events  of  the  times — ^Two  democratical  weaver 
lads  brought  before  Mr.  Cayenne,  as  justice  of  peace    .         .130 

CHAPTER  XXXV— Year   1794 

The  condition  of  the  parish,  as  divided  into  government  men  and 
Jacobins — I  endeavour  to  prevent  Christian  charity  from  being 
forgotten  in  the  phraseology  of  utility  and  philanthropy        .     133 


i( 


CHAPTER  XXXVI— Year   1795 

A  recruiting  party  visits  the  town — After  them,  players — then  preaching 
Quakers — ^The  progress  of  philosophy  among  the  weavers     .     135 


CHAPTER  XXXVII— Year   1796 

Death  of  second  Mrs.  Balwhidder — I  look  out  for  a  third,  and  fix  upon 
Mrs.  Nugent,  a  widow — Particulars  of  the  courtship      .        .     139 

xxviii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII— Year    1797 

Mr.  Henry  Melcomb  comes  to  the  parish  to  see  his  uncle,  Mr. 
Cayenne — From  some  jocular  behaviour  on  his  part,  Meg  Gaffaw 
falls  in  love  with  him — The  sad  result  of  the  adventure  when  he 
is  married Page  143 

CHAPTER  XXXIX— Year    1798 

A  dearth — Mr.  Cayenne  takes  measures  to  mitigate  the  evil — He  re- 
ceives kindly  some  Irish  refugees — His  daughter's  marriage  .     147 

CHAPTER  XL— Year   1799 

My  daughter's  marriage — Her  large  portion — Mrs.  Malcolm's 
death 151 

CHAPTER  XLI— Year   1800 

Return  of  an  inclination  towards  political  tranquillity — Death  of  the 
schoolmistress 154 


CHAPTER  XLII— Year   1801 
An  account  of  Colin  Mavis,  who  becomes  a  poet . 


157 


CHAPTER  XLIII— Year   1802 

The  political  condition  of  the  world  felt  in  the  private  concerns  of 
individuals — Mr.  Cayenne  comes  to  ask  my  advice,  and  acts 
according  to  it 159 


CHAPTER  XLIV— Year   1803 

Fear  of  an  invasion — Raising  of  volunteers  in  the  parish — The  young 
ladies  embroider  a  stand  of  colours  for  the  regiment     .        .162 

xxix 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER  XLV— Year   1804 

The  Session  agrees  that  church  censures  shall  be  commuted  with  fines 
— Our  parish  has  an  opportunity  of  seeing  a  turtle,  which  is  sent 
to  Mr.  Cayenne — Some  fears  of  popery — A,lso  about  a  preacher  of 
universal  redemption — Report  of  a  French  ship  appearing  in  the 
west,  which  sets  the  voluntt  ^rs  astir      ....    Page  *  67 


! 


CHAPTER  XLVI— Year   1805 

Retrenchment  of  the  extravagant  expenses  used  at  burials — I  use  an 
expedient  for  putting  even  the  second  service  out  of  fashion.     171 

CHAPTER  XLVII— Year   1806 

The  deathbed  behaviour  of  Mr.  Cayenne — A  schism  in  the  parish, 
and  a  subscription  to  build  a  meeting-house  .         .         .         •     ^  73 

CHAPTER  XLVni— Year  1807 

Numerous  marriages — Account  of  a  pay-wedding  made  to  set  up  a 
shop 177 

CHAPTER  XLIX— Year   1808 

Failure  of  Mr.  Speckle,  the  proprietor  of  the  cotton-mill — The  melan- 
choly end  of  one  of  the  overseers  and  his  wife       .         .         -179 

CHAPTER  L— Year   1809 

Opening  of  a  meeting-house — ^The  elders  come  to  the  manse,  and  offer 
me  a  helper 183 

CHAPTER  LI— Year   1810 


Conclusion — I  repair  to  the  church  for  the  last   time — Afterwatds 
receive  a  silver  server  from  the  parishioners — And  still  continue 

to  marry  and  baptize 184 

XXX 


CONTENTS 

THE  AYRSHIRE   LEGATEES 

CHAPTER  I 

The  Departure      .  '"'''' 

193 

CHAPTER   II 

The  Voyage    . 

20I 

CHAPTER   III 

The  Legacy    . 

209 

CHAPTER   IV 

The  Town 

216 

CHAPTER  V 

The  Royal  Funeral 

234 

CHAPTER  VI 

Philosophy  and  Religion 

252 

CHAPTER   VII 

Discoveries  and  Rebellions 

•        •        .     271 

CHAPTER  Vin 

The  Queen's  Trlal ^g 

xxxi 


r' 


f,       !«l 


<!' 


THE  AYRSHIRE   LEGATEES 


CHAPTER   IX 


The  Marriage 


TAGE 

309 


CHAPTER  X 


The  Return    . 


•  •  t  t  •  • 


324 


xxxu 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


ANNALS   OF   THE   PARISH 


'  We  were  obligated  to  go  in  by  a  window '         .         .         . 

'  Ml.  Macskipnish  ' 

'  The  very  parrot  was  a  participato'- '  . 

'  A  figure  was  seen  in  the  upper  flat ' . 

'  One  of  the  older  men  set  and  tempered  to  me  two  razors ' 

'  It  was  a  droll  curiosity  to  see  his  lordship  clad  in  my  garments ' 

•  He  came  to  show  himself  in  his  regimentals  to  his  mother  ' 

'  Covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  wept  bitterly ' . 

'  Extraordinary  condescending  towa*  ds  me  ' 

'  The  murderer  was  brought  back  to  the  parish  ' 

'  Miss  Sabrina  showed  him  the  way  '  . 

'  She  ripped  up  the  tikeing,  and  sent  all  the  tea  floating  away  ' 

'  Words  passed,  and  the  exciseman  shot  my  lord ' 

'  With  all  the  due  formality  common  on  such  occasions  ' 

'  He  attempted  to  fling  it  at  Sambo ' 

'  Debating  about  the  affairs  of  the  French  "... 
'  She  entertained  me  sometimes  with  a  tune  '  .  .  . 
'The  actor  who  did  the  part  of  King  Macbeth  made  a  most 

polite  bow  of  thankfulness  ' 

'  A  kindly  nip  on  her  sonsy  arm  '..... 

xxxiii 


PAGE 

6 
>5 

22 

35 
38 
41 
52 
57 

65 

68 

78 
88 

98 
104 
109 
119 
129 

138 
142 


I    ! 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

*  Ilamled  her  over  the  kirk  stile  '        .         .         .         . 

*  A  pair  of  old  tnarrowless  stockings  ' . 

'  So  he  lay  down,  and  I  tumbled  over  him ' 

*  Mr.  Cayenne  got  a  turtle-fish  sent  to  him  ' 

*  I  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  him  with  great  sincerity ' 
'  The  elders,  in  a  body,  came  to  me  in  the  manse  ' 

THE  AYRSHIRE   LEGATEES 


*  Dr.  Pringle  received  a  letter  '  . 

'  Trying  to  take  the  number  of  the  coach  '  . 

'  My  father  turned  his  eyes  upwards  in  thankfulness  ' 

'  Gathering  wrath  and  holy  indignation  '     . 

'  Miss  Arabella  took  her  harp  '  . 

*  Mr.  Snodgrass  hastily  removed  the  book  ' 
'  What  an  inattentive  congregation '  . 

'  To  give  us  warning  becas  they  were  starvit ' 
'  Sir  Marmaduke  Towler '  . 

*  His  fancy  was  exceedingly  lively '     . 

'  A  fine  quiet  canny  sight  of  the  queen  ' 
'  Sabre  has  been  brought  to  the  point ' 
'  Andrew  became  a  man  of  fashion  '   . 
'  Mr.  Micklewham  '  . 

*  The  moment  that  the  Doctor  made  his  appearance  ' 


PAGB 

145 

156 

166 

169 

»75 
185 


Frontispiece 
207 
214 
225 
246 
253 

275 
278 
287 

293 
300 

303 
307 
320 

333 


XXXIV 


PACK 

156 

166 
169 

185 


Frontispiece 
207 
214 
.     225 
.     246 

•  253 

•  275 
.  278 
.  287 
.  293 
.  300 
.  303 

•  307 
.  320 

•  333 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH: 


OR   THE 


CHRONICLE   OF   DALMAILING 

DURING  THE   MINISTRY   OF 

THE   REV.    MICAH   BALWHIDDER 
WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF 

ARRANGED   AND   EDITED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  'THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES,'  Errc. 


h 


TO 

JOHN  WILSON,   Esquire, 

PROFESSOR  OF  MORAL   PHILOSOPHY   IN  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF   EDINBURGH  ; 

AS  A   SMALL  EXPRESSION  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  REGARD 

FOR   HIS  WORTH  AND  TALENTS 


; 


!  ■! 


!  r 


I  \  I 


i 


I. 


M     I 


INTRODUCTION 


In  the  same  year,  and  on  the  same  clay  of  the  same  month, 
that  his  Sacred  Majesty  King  George,  the  third  of  the  name, 
came  to  his  crown  and  kingdom,  I  was  placed  and  settled 
as  the  minister  of  Dalmailing.  When  about  a  week  there- 
after this  was  known  in  the  parish,  it  was  thought  a  wonderful 
thing,  and  everybody  spoke  of  me  and  the  new  king  as 
united  in  our  trusts  and  temporalities,  mai-velling  how  the 
same  should  come  to  pass,  and  thinking  tht  band  of  Provi- 
dence was  in  it,  and  that  surely  we  were  preoraained  to  fade 
and  flourish  in  fellowship  together ;  which  has  really  been 
the  case,  for,  in  the  same  season  that  his  Most  Excellent 
Majesty,  as  he  was  very  properly  styled  in  the  proclamations 
for  the  general  fasts  and  thanksgiv.' igs,  was  set  by  as  a 
precious  vessel  which  had  recei\'ed  a  crack  or  a  flaw,  and 
could  only  be  serviceable  in  the  way  of  an  ornament,  I  was 
obliged,  by  reason  of  age  and  the  growing  infinnities  of  my 
recollection,  to  consent  to  the  earnest  entreaties  of  the  Session, 
and  to  accept  of  Mr.  Amos  to  be  my  helper.  I  was  long 
reluctant  to  do  so,  but  the  great  respect  that  my  people  had 
for  me.  and  the  love  that  I  bore  towards  them,  over  and 
above  the  sign  that  was  given  to  me  in  the  removal  of  the 
royal  candlestick  from  its  place,  worked  upon  my  heart  and 
understanding,  and  I  could  not  stand  out.  So,  on  the  last 
Sabbath  of  the  year  iSic.  I  preached  my  last  sermon,  and 
it  was  a  moving  discourse.  There  were  few  dry  eyes  in  the 
kirk  that  day,  for  I  had  been  with  the  aged  from  the  beginning 
— the  young  considered  me  as  their  natural  pastor — and  my 
bidding  them  all  farewell  was,  as  when  of  old  among  the 
heathen,  an  idol  was  taken  away  by  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 
At  the  close  of  the  worship,  and  before  the  blessing,  I 
B  I  IB 


•r^ 


f 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

addressed  them  in  a  fatherly  manner,  and  although  the  kirk 
was  fuller  than  ever  I  saw  it  before,  the  fall  of  a  pin  might 
have  been  heard — at  the  conclusion  there  was  a  sobbing 
and  much  sorrow.     I  said  : 

'  My  dear  friends,  I  have  now  finished  my  work  among 
you  for  ever.  I  have  often  spoken  to  you  from  this  place 
the  words  of  truth  and  holiness,  and,  had  it  been  in  poor 
frail  human  nature  to  practise  the  advice  and  counselling  that 
I  have  given  in  this  pulpit  to  you,  there  would  not  need  to 
be  any  cause  for  sorrow  on  this  occasion — the  close  and 
latter  end  of  my  ministry.  But,  nevertheless,  I  have  ' 
reason  to  complain,  and  it  will  be  my  duty  to  testify,  in  th  tt 
place  where  I  hope  we  are  all  one  day  to  meet  again,  that 
I  found  you  a  docile  and  a  tractable  flock,  far  more  than 
at  first  I  could  have  expected.  There  are  amo;;?,  you  still 
a  few,  but  with  grey  heads  and  feeble  hands  now,  that  can 
remember  the  great  opposition  that  was  made  to  my  placing, 
and  the  stout  part  they  themselves  took  in  the  burly,  because 
I  was  appointed  by  the  patron  ;  but  they  have  lived  to  see 
the  error  of  their  way,  and  to  know  that  preaching  is  the 
smallest  portion  of  the  duties  of  a  faithful  minister.  I  may 
not,  my  dear  friends,  have  applied  my  talent  in  the  pulpit 
so  effectually  as  perhaps  I  might  have  done,  considering  the 
gifts  that  it  pleased  God  to  give  me  in  that  way,  and  the 
education  that  I  had  in  the  Orthodox  University  of  Glasgow, 
as  it  was  in  the  time  of  my  youth,  nor  can  I  say  that,  in 
the  works  of  peacemaking  and  charity,  I  have  done  all  that 
I  should  have  done.  But  I  have  done  my  best,  studyin  ,  no 
interest  but  the  good  that  was  to  rise  according  to  the  iniih 
in  Christ  Jesus. 

'To  my  young  friends  I  would,  as  a  parting  word,  say- 
Look  to  the  lives  and  conversation  of  your  parents — they 
were  plain,  honest,  and  devout  Christians,  fearing  God  and 
honouring  the  king.  They  believed  the  Bible  was  the  word 
of  God,  and  when  they  practised  its  precepts,  they  found,  by 
the  good  that  came  from  them,  that  it  was  truly  so.  They 
bore  in  mind  the  tribulation  and  persecution  of  their  fore- 
fathers for  righteousness'  sake,  and  were  thankful  for  the  quiet 
and  protection  of  the  government  in  their  day  and  generation. 
Their  land  was  tilled  with  industry,  and  they  ate  the  bread 
of  carefulness  with  a  contented  spirit,  and,  verily,  they  had 

2 


ANNAT.S  OF  THE  PARISH 


the  reward  of  well-doing  even  in  this  world,  for  they  beheld 
on  all  sides  the  blessing  of  God  upon  the  nation,  and  the 
tree  growing,  and  the  plough  going,  where  the  banner  of 
the  oppressor  was  planted  of  old,  and  the  war-horse  trampled 
in  the  blood  of  martyrs.  Reflect  on  this,  my  young  friends, 
and  know,  that  the  best  part  of  a  Christian's  duty  in  this 
world  of  much  evil,  is  to  thole  and  suffer  with  resignation, 
as  lang  as  it  is  possible  for  human  nature  to  do.  I  do  not 
counsel  passive  obedience  ;  that  is  a  doctrine  that  the  Church 
of  Scotland  can  never  abide  ;  but  the  divine  right  of  resistance, 
which,  in  the  days  of  her  trouble,  she  so  bravely  asserted 
against  popish  and  prelatic  usurpations,  was  never  resorted  to 
till  the  attempt  was  made  to  remove  .he  ark  of  the  tabernacle 
from  her.  I  therefore  counsel  you,  my  young  friends,  no  to 
lend  your  ears  to  those  that  trumpet  forth  their  hypothetical 
politics,  but  to  believe  that  the  laws  of  the  land  are  administered 
with  a  good  intent,  till  in  your  own  homes  and  dwellings  ye 
feel  the  presence  of  the  oppressor — then,  and  not  till  then, 
are  ye  free  to  gird  your  loins  for  battle — and  woe  to  him, 
and  woe  to  the  land  where  that  is  come  to,  if  the  sword  be 
sheathed  till  the  wrong  be  redressed. 

'As  for  you,  my  old  companions,  many  changes  have  we 
seen  in  our  day,  but  the  change  that  we  ourselves  are  soon 
to  undergo  will  be  the  greatest  of  all.  We  have  seen  our 
bairns  grow  to  manhood — we  have  seen  the  beauty  of  youth 
pass  away — we  have  felt  our  backs  become  unable  for  the 
burthen,  and  our  right  hand  forget  its  cunning.  Our  eyes 
have  become  dim,  and  our  heads  grey — we  are  now  tottering 
with  short  and  feckless  steps  towards  the  grave  ;  and  some, 
that  should  have  been  here  this  day,  are  bed-rid,  lying,  as  it 
were,  at  the  gates  of  death,  like  Lazarus  at  the  threshold 
of  the  rich  man's  door,  full  of  ails  and  sores,  and  having  no 
enjoyment  but  in  the  hope  that  is  in  hereafter.  What  can 
I  say  to  you  but  farewell !  Our  work  is  done — we  are  weary 
and  worn  out,  and  in  need  of  rest  —  may  the  rest  of  the 
blessed  be  our  portion !  —  and,  in  the  sleep  that  all  must 
sleep,  beneath  the  cold  blanket  of  the  kirkyard  grass,  and 
on  that  clay  pillow  where  we  must  shortly  lay  our  heads, 
may  we  have  pleasant  dreams,  till  we  are  awakened  to  partake 
of  the  everlasting  banquet  of  the  saints  in  glory.' 

When   I   had  finished,  there  was  for  some  time  a  great 

3 


n 


fi 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

solemnity  throughout  the  kirk,  and,  before  giving  the  blessing, 
I  sat  down  to  compose  myself,  for  my  heart  was  big,  and 
my  spirit  oppressed  with  sadness. 

As  I  left  the  pulpit,  all  the  elders  stood  on  the  steps  to 
hand  me  down,  and  the  tear  was  in  every  eye,  and  they 
helped  me  into  the  session-house  ;  but  I  could  not  speak  to 
them,  nor  them  to  me.  Then  Mr.  Dalziel,  who  was  always 
a  composed  and  sedate  man,  said  a  few  words  of  prayer, 
and  I  was  comforted  therewith,  and  rose  to  go  home  to  the 
manse ;  but  in  the  churchyard  all  the  congregation  was 
assembled,  young  and  old,  and  they  made  a  lane  for  me  to 
the  back-yett  that  opened  into  the  manse-garden.  Some  of 
them  put  out  their  hands  and  touched  me  as  I  passed,  followed 
by  the  elders,  and  some  of  them  wept.  It  was  as  if  I  was 
passing  away,  and  to  be  no  more — verily,  it  was  the  reward 
of  my  ministry — a  faithful  account  of  which,  year  by  year, 
I  now  sit  down,  in  the  evening  of  my  days,  to  make  up,  to 
the  end  that  I  may  bear  witness  to  the  work  of  a  beneficent 
Providence,  even  in  the  narrow  sphere  of  my  parish,  and 
the  concerns  of  that  flock  of  which  it  was  His  most  gracious 
pleasure  to  make  me  the  unworthy  shepherd. 


CHAPTER    I 
Year  1760 


The  placing  of  Mr.  Balwhidder — The  resistance  of  the  parishioners — 
Mrs.  Malcolm,  the  widow — Mr.  Balwhidder's  marriage. 

The  Ann.  Dom.  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  sixty  was 
remarkable  for  three  things  in  the  parish  of  Dahnailing, 
First  and  foremost,  there  was  my  placing  ;  then  the  coming 
of  Mrs.  Malcolm  with  her  five  children  to  settle  among  us  ; 
and  next,  my  marriage  upon  my  own  cousin.  Miss  Betty 
Lanshaw,  by  which  the  account  of  this  year  naturally  divides 
itself  into  three  heads  or  portions. 

First,  of  the  placing.  It  was  a  great  affair ;  for  I  was  put 
in  by  the  patron,  and  the  people  knew  nothing  whatsoever  of 
me,  and  their  hearts  were  stirred  into  strife  on  the  occasion, 
and  they  did  all  that  lay  within  the  compass  of  their  power 
to  keep  me  out,  insomuch,  that  there  was  obliged  to  be  a 
guard  of  soldiers  to  protect  the  presbytery ;  and  it  was  a  thing 
that  made  my  heart  grieve  when  I  heard  the  drum  beating  and 
the  fife  playing  as  we  were  going  to  the  kirk.  The  people 
were  really  mad  anc  vicious,  and  flung  dirt  upon  us  as  we 
passed,  and  reviled  us  all,  and  held  out  the  finger  of  scorn 
at  me ;  but  I  endured  it  with  a  resigned  spirit,  compassion- 
ating their  wilfulness  and  blindness.  Poor  old  Mr.  Kilfuddy 
of  the  Braehill  got  such  a  clash  of  glar  on  the  side  of  his  face, 
that  his  eye  was  almost  extinguished. 

When  we  got  to  the  kirk  door,  it  was  found  to  be  nailed 
up,  so  as  by  no  possibility  to  be  opened.  The  sergeant  of  the 
soldiers  wanted  to  break  it,  but  I  was  afraid  that  the  heritors 
would  grudge  and  complain  of  the  expense  of  a  new  door,  and 
I  supplicated  him  to  let  it  be  as  it  was ;  we  were,  therefore, 

5 


1  I 


1 1 


I ,« 


IFe  tvcrc  obligated  to  go  in  by  a  whuii?w,'> 


ANNALS  OF  THE  TARISII 


obligated  to  go  in  by  a  window,  and  the  crowd  followed  us,  in 
the  most  unreverent  manner,  making  the  Lord's  house  like  an 
inn  on  a  fair  day,  with  their  grievous  yellyhooing.  During  the 
time  of  the  psalm  and  the  sermon,  they  behaved  themselves 
better,  but  when  the  induction  came  on,  their  clamour  was 
dreadful ;  and  Thomas  Thorl,  the  weaver,  a  pious  zealot  in 
that  time,  he  got  up  and  protested,  and  said,  'Verily,  verily, 
I  say  unto  you,  he  that  entereth  not  by  the  door  into  the 
sheepfold,  but  climbeth  up  some  other  way,  the  same  is  a 
thief  and  a  robber.'  And  I  thought  I  would  have  a  hard 
and  sore  time  of  it  with  such  an  outstrapolous  people.  Mr. 
Given,  that  was  then  the  minister  of  Lugton,  was  a  jocose  man, 
and  would  have  his  joke  even  at  a  solemnity.  When  the 
laying  of  the  hands  upon  me  was  a-doing,  he  could  not  get 
near  enough  to  put  on  his,  but  he  stretched  out  his  stafif  and 
touched  my  head,  and  said,  to  the  great  diversion  of  the  rest, 
'This  will  do  well  enough,  timber  to  timber,'  but  it  was  an 
unfriendly  saying  of  Mr.  Given,  considering  the  time  and  the 
place,  and  the  temper  of  my  people. 

After  the  ceremony,  we  then  got  out  at  the  window,  and 
it  was  a  heavy  day  to  me,  but  we  went  to  the  manse,  and 
there  we  had  an  excellent  dinner,  which  Mrs.  Watts  of  the 
new  inns  of  Irville  prepared  at  my  request,  and  sent  her 
chaise-driver  to  serve,  for  he  was  likewise  her  waiter,  she 
having  then  but  one  chaise,  and  that  no  often  called  for. 

But,  although  my  people  received  me  in  this  unruly  manner, 
I  was  resolved  to  cultivate  civility  among  them  ;  and  there- 
fore, the  very  next  morning  I  began  a  round  of  visitations  ; 
but  oh,  it  was  a  steep  brae  that  I  had  to  climb,  and  it  needed 
a  stout  heart.  For  I  found  the  doors  in  some  places  barred 
against  me ;  in  others,  the  bairns,  when  they  saw  me  coming, 
ran  crying  to  their  mothers,  '  Here's  the  feckless  Mess-John ' ; 
and  then  when  I  went  in  into  the  houses,  their  parents  would 
no  ask  me  to  sit  down,  but  with  a  scornful  way,  said,  '  Honest 
man,  what's  your  pleasure  here  ? '  Nevertheless,  I  walked 
about  from  door  to  door,  like  a  dejected  beggar,  till  I  got  the 
almous  deed  of  a  civil  reception,  and  who  would  have  thought 
it,  from  no  less  a  person  than  the  same  Thomas  Thorl  that 
was  so  bitter  against  me  in  the  kirk  on  the  foregoing  day. 

Thomas  was  standing  at  the  door  with  his  green  duffle 


apron  and  his  red  Kilmarnock  nightcap- 

7 


-I  mind  him  as  well 


ANNALS  OK  THE  PARISH 

as  if  it  was  but  yesterday — and  he  had  seen  me  going  from 
house  to  house,  and  in  what  manner  I  was  rejected,  and  his 
bowels  were  moved,  and  he  said  to  me  in  a  kind  manner, 
'  Come  in,  sir,  and  ease  yoursel' ;  this  will  never  do,  the  clergy 
are  God's  gorbies,  and  for  their  Master's  sake  it  behoves  us 
to  respect  them.  There  was  no  ane  in  the  whole  parish  mair 
against  you  than  mysel',  but  this  early  visitation  is  a  sympton 
of  grace  that  I  couldna  have  expectit  from  a  bird  out  the  nest 
of  patronage.'  1  thanked  Thomas,  and  went  in  with  him,  and 
we  had  some  solid  conversation  together,  and  I  told  him  that 
it  was  not  so  much  the  pastor's  duty  to  feed  the  flock,  as  to 
herd  them  well ;  and  that  although  there  might  be  some  abler 
with  the  head  than  me,  there  wasna  a  he  within  the  bounds 
of  Scotland  more  willing  to  watch  the  fold  by  night  and  by 
day.  And  Thomas  said  he  had  not  heard  a  mair  sound 
observe  for  some  lime,  and  that  if  I  held  to  that  doctrine  in 
the  poopit,  it  wouldna  be  lang  till  I  would  work  a  change. 
'  I  was  mindit,'  quoth  he,  '  never  to  set  my  foot  within  the 
kirk  door  while  you  were  there ;  but  t.o  testify,  and  no  to 
condemn  without  a  trial,  I'll  be  there  next  Lord's  day,  and 
egg  my  neighbours  to  be  likewise,  so  ye'll  no  have  to  preach 
just  to  the  bare  walls  and  the  laird's  family.' 

I  have  now  to  speak  of  the  coming  of  Mrs.  Malcolm.  She 
was  the  widow  of  a  Clyde  shipmaster,  that  was  lost  at  sea 
with  his  vessel.  She  was  a  genty  body,  calm  and  methodical. 
From  morning  to  night  she  sat  at  her  wheel,  spinning  the 
finest  lint,  which  suited  well  with  her  pale  hands.  She  never 
changed  her  widow's  weeds,  and  she  was  aye  as  if  she  had 
just  been  ta'en  out  of  a  bandbox.  The  tear  was  aften  in  her 
e'e  when  the  bairns  were  at  the  school  ;  but  when  they  came 
home,  her  spirit  was  lighted  up  with  gladness,  although,  poor 
woman,  she  had  many  a  time  very  little  to  give  them.  They 
were,  however,  wonderful  well-bred  things,  and  took  with 
thankfulness  whatever  she  set  before  them,  for  they  knew  that 
their  father,  the  bread-winner,  was  away,  and  that  she  had  to 
work  sore  for  their  bit  and  drap.  I  daresay,  the  only  vexation 
that  ever  she  had  from  any  of  them,  on  their  own  account, 
was  when  Charlie,  the  eldest  laddie,  had  won  fourpence  at 
pitch  and  toss  at  the  school,  which  he  brought  home  with  a 
proud  heart  to  his  mother.  I  happened  to  be  daunrin'  by  at 
the  time,  and  just  looked  in  at  the  door  to  say  gude-night : 

8 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


It  was  a  sad  sight.  There  was  she  sitting  with  the  silent  tear 
on  her  cheek,  and  Charlie  greeting  as  if  he  had  done  a  great 
fault,  and  the  other  four  looking  on  with  sorrowful  faces. 
Never,  I  am  sure,  did  Charlie  Malcolm  gamble  after  that 
night. 

I  often  wondered  what  brought  Mrs.  Malcolm  to  our 
clachan,  instead  of  going  to  a  populous  town,  where  she  might 
have  taken  up  a  huxtry-shop,  as  she  was  but  of  a  silly  constitu- 
tion, the  which  would  have  been  better  for  her  than  spinning 
from  morning  to  far  in  the  night,  as  if  she  was  in  verity 
drawing  the  thread  of  life.  But  it  was,  no  doubt,  from  an 
honest  pride  to  hide  her  poverty  ;  for  when  her  daughter  Effie 
was  ill  with  the  measles — the  poor  lassie  was  very  ill — nobody 
thought  she  could  come  through,  and  when  she  did  get  the 
turn,  she  was  for  many  a  day  a  heavy  handful ; — our  Session 
being  rich,  and  nobody  on  it  but  cripple  Tammy  Daidles,  that 
was  at  that  time  known  through  all  the  country-side  for  begging 
on  a  horse,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Malcolm 
in  a  sympathising  way,  and  ofifer  her  some  assistance,  but  she 
refused  it. 

'  No,  sir,'  said  she,  '  I  canna  take  help  from  the  poor's- 
box,  although  it's  very  true  that  I  am  in  great  need  ;  for  it 
might  hereafter  be  cast  up  to  my  bairns,  whom  it  may  please 
God  to  restore  to  better  circumstances  when  I  am  n'»  to  see't ; 
but  I  would  fain  borrow  five  pounds,  and  if,  sir,  you  vill  write 
to  Mr.  Maitland,  that  is  now  the  Lord  Provost  of  Glasgow, 
and  tell  him  that  Marion  Shaw  would  be  obliged  to  him  for 
the  lend  of  that  soom,  I  think  he  will  not  fail  to  send  it.' 

I  wrote  the  letter  Lhat  night  to  Provost  Maitland,  and,  by 
the  retour  of  the  post,  I  got  an  answer,  with  twenty  pounds 
for  Mrs.  Malcolm,  saying,  *  that  it  was  with  sorrow  he  heard 
so  small  a  trifle  could  be  serviceable.'  When  I  took  the  letter 
and  the  money,  which  was  in  a  bank-bill,  she  said,  'This  is 
just  like  himsel'.'  She  then  told  me,  that  Mr.  Maitland  had 
been  a  gentleman's  son  of  the  east  country,  but  driven  out  of 
his  father's  house,  when  a  laddie,  by  his  step-mother ;  and 
that  he  had  served  as  a  servant  lad  with  her  father,  who  was 
the  Laird  of  Yillcogie,  but  ran  through  his  estate,  and  left  her, 
his  only  daughter,  in  little  better  than  beggary  with  her  auntie, 
the  mother  of  Captain  Malcolm,  her  husband  that  was. 
Provost  Maitland  in  his  servitude  had  ta'en  a  notion  of  her, 

9 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

and  when  he  recovered  his  patrimony,  and  had  become  a  great 
Glasgow  merchant,  on  hearing  how  she  was  left  by  her  father, 
he  offered  to  marry  her,  but  she  had  promised  herself  to  her 
cousin  the  captain,  whose  widow  she  was.  He  then  married 
a  rich  lady,  and  in  time  grew,  as  he  was.  Lord  Provost  of  the 
City  ;  but  his  letter  with  the  twenty  pounds  to  me,  showed 
that  he  had  not  forgotten  his  first  love.  It  was  a  short,  but  a 
well-written  letter,  in  a  fair  hand  of  write,  containing  much  of 
the  true  gentleman ;  and  Mrs.  Malcolm  said,  '  Who  knows 
but  out  of  the  regard  he  once  had  for  their  mother,  he  may  do 
something  for  my  five  helpless  orphans.' 

Thirdly,  upon  the  subject  of  taking  my  cousin.  Miss  Betty 
Lanshaw,  for  my  first  wife,  I  have  little  to  say.  It  was  more 
out  of  a  compassionate  habitual  affection,  than  the  passion  of 
love.  We  were  brought  up  by  our  grandmother  in  the  same 
house,  and  it  was  a  thing  spoken  of  from  the  beginning,  that 
Betty  and  me  were  to  be  married.  So  when  she  heard  that 
the  Laird  of  Breadland  had  given  me  the  presentation  of 
Ualmailing,  she  began  to  prepare  for  the  wedding.  And  as 
soon  as  the  placing  was  well  over,  and  the  manse  in  order,  I 
gaed  to  Ayr,  where  she  was,  and  we  were  quietly  married,  and 
came  home  in  a  chaise,  bringing  with  us  her  little  brother 
Andrew,  that  died  in  the  East  Indies,  and  he  lived  and  was 
brought  up  by  us. 

Now,  this  is  all,  I  think,  that  happened  in  that  year  worthy 
of  being  mentioned,  except  that  at  the  Sacrament,  when  old 
Mr,  Kilfuddy  was  preaching  in  the  tent,  it  came  on  such  a 
thunder-plump,  that  there  was  not  a  single  soul  staid  in  the 
kirkyard  to  hear  him ;  for  the  which  he  was  greatly  mortified, 
and  never  after  came  to  our  preachings. 


lo 


ANNALS  OF  TIIK  PAUISII 


CHAPTER  II 


Ykar  1761 


The  great  increase  of  smuggling — Mr.  Halwhidder  disperses  a  Ica-driiiking 
party  of  gossips — He  records  th-  virtues  of  Nanse  Banks,  the  school- 
mistress— The  servant  of  a  nuuiary  man,  who  had  been  prisoner  in 
France,  comes  into  the  parish,  and  opens  a  dancing-school. 

"**  .  . 

It  was  in  this  year  that  the  great  smuggling  trade  coimptcd 

all  the  west  coast,  especially  the  Laigh  Lands  about  the  Troon 
and  the  Loans.  The  tea  was  going  like  the  chaflF,  the  brandy 
like  well-water,  and  the  wastrie  of  all  things  was  terrible. 
There  was  nothing  minded  but  the  riding  of  cadgers  by  day, 
and  excisemen  by  night — and  battles  between  the  smugglers 
and  the  king's  men,  both  by  sea  and  land.  There  was  a 
continual  drunkenness  and  debauchery  ;  and  our  Session,  that 
was  but  on  the  lip  of  this  whirlpool  of  iniquity,  had  an  uwful 
time  o't.  I  did  all  that  was  in  the  power  of  nature  to  keep  my 
people  from  the  contagion  ;  I  preached  sixteen  times  from  the 
text,  Render  to  Ca:sar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's.  I  visited, 
and  I  exhorted ;  I  warned,  and  I  prophesied ;  I  told  them 
that,  although  the  money  came  in  like  sclate  stones,  it  would 
go  like  the  snow  off  the  dyke.  But  for  all  I  could  do,  the  evil 
got  in  among  us,  and  we  had  no  less  than  three  contested 
bastard  bairns  upon  our  hands  at  one  time,  which  was  a  thing 
never  heard  of  in  a  parish  of  the  shire  of  Ayr,  since  the  Re- 
formation. Two  of  the  bairns,  after  no  small  sifting  and 
searching,  we  got  fathered  at  last ;  but  the  third,  that  was  by 
Meg  Glaiks,  and  given  to  one  Rab  Rickerton,  was  utterly 
refused,  though  the  fact  was  not  denied ;  but  he  was  a  terma- 
gant fellow,  and  snappit  his  fingers  at  the  elders.  The  next 
day  he  listed  in  the  Scotch  Greys,  who  were  then  quartered  at 
Ayr,  and  we  never  heard  more  of  him,  but  thought  he  had 
been  slain  in  battle,  till  one  of  the  parish,  about  three  years 
since,  went  up  to  London  to  lift  a  legacy  from  a  cousin,  that 
died  among  the  Hindoos ;  when  he  was  walking  about,  seeing 
the  curiosities,  and  among  others  Chelsea  Hospital,  he 
happened  to  speak  to  some  of  the  invalids,  who  found  out  from 
his  tongue  that  he  was  a  Scotchman ;  and  speaking  to  the 

II 


I't-i 


•  H 


ANNALS  OF  THK  PARISH 


I 


invalids,  one  of  thcni,  a  very  old  man,  with  a  grey  head,  and  a 
leg  of  timber,  inquired  what  part  of  Scotland  he  was  come  from  ; 
and  when  he  mentioned  my  parish,  the  invalid  gave  a  great 
shout,  and  said  he  was  from  the  same  place  himself ;  and  who 
should  this  old  man  be,  but  the  very  identical  Rab  Rickerton, 
that  was  art  and  part  in  Meg  (ilaiks'  disowned  bairn.  Then 
they  had  a  long  converse  to^c^her,  and  he  had  come  through 
many  hardships,  but  had  turned  out  a  good  soldier ;  and  so, 
in  his  old  days,  was  an  indoor  pensioner,  and  very  comfortable  ; 
and  he  said  that  he  had,  to  be  sure,  spent  his  youth  in  the 
devil's  service,  and  his  manhood  in  the  king's,  but  his  old  age 
was  given  to  that  of  his  Maker,  which  I  was  blithe  and  thank- 
ful to  hear  ;  and  he  inquired  about  many  a  one  in  the  parish, 
the  blooming  and  the  green  of  his  time,  but  they  were  all  dead 
and  buried  ;  and  he  had  a  contrite  and  penitent  spirit,  and 
read  his  Bible  every  day,  delighting  most  in  the  Book  of 
Joshua,  the  Chronicles  and  the  Kings. 

Before  this  year,  the  drinking  of  tea  was  little  known  in  the 
parish,  saving  among  a  few  of  the  heritors'  houses  on  a 
Sabbath  ever'ng,  but  now  it  became  very  rife,  yet  the 
commoner  sort  did  not  like  to  let  it  be  known  th  they  were 
taking  to  the  new  luxury,  especially  the  elderly  ien,  who, 
for  that  reason,  had  their  ploys  in  outhouses  Uiiu  Dyplaces, 
just  as  the  witches  lang  syne  had  their  sinful  possets  and 
galravitchings  ;  and  they  made  their  tea  for  common  in  the 
pint-stoup,  and  drank  it  out  of  caps  and  luggies,  for  there 
were  but  few  among  them  that  had  cups  and  saucers.  Well 
do  I  remember  one  night  in  harvest,  in  this  very  year,  as  I 
was  taking  my  twilight  dauner  aneath  the  hedge  along  the 
back  side  of  Thomas  Thorl's  yard,  meditating  on  the  goodness 
of  Providence,  and  looking  at  the  sheafs  of  victual  on  the  field, 
that  I  heard  his  wife,  and  two  three  other  carlins,  with  their 
bohea  in  the  inside  of  the  hedge,  and  no  doubt  but  it  had  a 
lacing  of  the  conek,i  for  they  were  all  cracking  like  pen-guns. 
But  I  gave  them  a  sign  by  a  loud  host,  that  Providence  sees 
all,  and  it  skailed  the  bike ;  for  I  heard  them,  like  guilty 
creatures,  whispering  and  gathering  up  their  truck-pots  and 
trenchers,  and  cowering  away  home. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  Patrick  Dilworth  (he  had  been 
schoolmaster  of  the  parish  from  the  time,  as  his  wife  said,  of 

^  Cogniac. 
12 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


Anna  Regina,  and  before  the  Rexes  came  to  the  crown)  was 
disabled  by  a  paralytic,  and  the  heritors,  grudging  the  cost  of 
another  schoohnastcr  as  long  as  he  lived,  would  not  allow  the 
Session  to  get  his  place  supplied,  which  was  a  wrong  thing,  I 
must  say  of  them  ;  for  the  children  of  the  parishioners  were 
obliged,  therefore,  to  go  to  the  neighbouring  towns  for  their 
schooling,  and  the  custom  was  to  take  a  piece  of  bread  and 
cheese  in  their  pockets  for  dinner,  and  to  return  in  the  evening 
always  voracious  for  more,  the  long  walk  helping  the  natural 
crave  of  their  young  appetites.  In  this  way  Mrs.  Malcolm's 
two  eldest  laddies,  Charlie  and  Robert,  were  wont  to  go  to 
Irville,  and  it  was  soon  seen  that  they  kept  themselves  aloof 
from  the  other  callans  in  the  clachan,  and  had  a  genteeler 
turn  than  the  grulshy  bairns  of  the  cotters.  Her  bit  lassies, 
Kate  and  Effie,  were  better  off;  for  some  years  before,  Nanse 
Banks  had  taken  up  a  teaching  in  a  garret-room  of  a  house,  at 
the  corner  where  John  liayne  has  biggit  the  sclate-house  for 
his  grocery-shop.  Nanse  learnt  them  reading  and  working 
stockings,  and  how  to  sew  the  semplar,  for  twal-pennies  a 
week.  She  was  a  patient  creature,  well  cut  out  for  her  calling, 
with  bleer  eyn,  a  pale  face,  and  a  long  neck,  but  meek  and 
contented  withal,  tholing  the  dule  of  this  world  with  a 
Christian  submission  of  the  spirit ;  and  her  garret-room  was  a 
cordial  of  cleanliness,  for  she  made  the  scholars  set  the  house 
in  order,  time  and  time  about,  every  morning  ;  and  it  was  a 
common  remark  for  many  a  day,  that  the  lassies  who  had 
been  at  Nanse  Banks's  school  were  always  well  spoken  of, 
both  for  their  civility,  and  the  trigness  of  their  houses,  when 
they  were  afterwards  married.  In  short,  I  do  not  know,  that 
in  all  the  long  epoch  of  my  ministry,  any  individual  body  did 
more  to  improve  the  ways  of  the  parishioners,  in  their 
domestic  concerns,  than  did  that  worthy  and  innocent  creature, 
Nanse  Banks,  the  schoolmistress  ;  and  she  was  a  great  loss 
when  she  was  removed,  as  it  is  to  be  hoped,  to  a  better  world ; 
but  anent  this  I  shall  have  to  speak  more  at  large  hereafter. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  my  patron,  the  Laird  of  Breadland, 
departed  this  life,  and  I  preached  his  funeral-sermon  ;  but  he 
was  none  beloved  in  the  parish,  for  my  people  never  forgave 
him  for  putting  me  upon  them,  although  they  began  to  be 
more  on  a  familiar  footing  with  myself.  This  was  partly  owing 
to  my  first  wife,  Betty  Lanshaw,  who  was  an  active  through- 

13 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


going  woman,  and  wonderfu'  useful  to  many  of  the  cotters' 
wives  at  thoir  lying-in  ;  and  when  a  death  happened  among 
them,  her  helping  hand,  3,nd  anything  we  had  at  the  manse, 
was  never  wanting  ;  and  I  went  about  myself  to  the  bed-sides 
of  the  frail,  leaving  no  stone  unturned  to  win  the  affections  of 
my  people,  which,  by  the  blessing  of  the  Lord,  in  process  of 
time,  was  brought  to  a  bearing. 

But  a  ^hing  happened  in  this  year,  which  deserves  to  be 
recorded,  as  manifesting  what  effect  the  smuggling  was 
beginning  to  take  in  the  morals  of  the  country-side.  One  Mr, 
Macskipnish,  of  Highland  parentage,  who  had  been  a  valet-de- 
rhambre  with  a  major  in  the  campaigns,  and  taken  a  prisoner 
with  him  by  the  French,  he  having  come  home  in  a  cartel, 
took  up  a  dancing-school  at  Irville,  the  which  art  he  had 
learnt  in  the  genteelest  fashion,  in  the  mode  of  Paris,  at  the 
French  Court.  Such  a  thing  as  a  dancing-school  had  never, 
in  the  memory  of  man,  been  known  in  our  country-side  ;  and 
there  was  such  a  sound  about  the  steps  and  cotillions  of  Mr. 
Macskipnish,  that  every  lad  and  lass,  that  could  spare  time 
and  siller,  went  to  him,  to  the  great  neglect  of  theii  work. 
The  veiy  bairns  on  the  loan,  instead  of  their  wonted  play, 
gaed  linking  and  louping  in  the  steps  of  Mr.  Macskipnish, 
who  was,  to  be  sure,  a  great  curiosity,  with  long  spindle  legs, 
his  breast  shot  out  like  a  duck's,  and  his  head  powdered  and 
friz/,ied  up  like  a  tappit-hen.  He  was,  indeed,  the  proudest 
peacock  that  could  be  seen,  and  he  had  a  ring  on  his  finger, 
r  nd  when  he  camr  to  drink  his  tea  at  the  Breadland,  he 
brought  no  hat  on  his  head,  but  a  droll  cockit  thing  under  his 
arm,  which,  he  said,  was  after  the  manner  of  the  courtiers  at 
the  petty  suppers  of  one  Madam  Pompadour,  who  was  at  that 
tin  e  the  concubine  of  the  French  king. 

I  do  :iot  recollect  any  other  remarkable  thing  that  happened 
in  this  year.  The  harvest  was  very  abundant,  and  the  meal  so 
cheap,  that  it  caused  a  great  defect  in  my  stipend,  so  that  I  was 
obligated  to  postpone  the  purchase  of  a  mahogany  scrutoire  for 
my  study,  as  I  had  intended.  But  I  had  not  the  heart  to  com- 
plain of  *his  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  rejoiced  thereat,  for  what  made 
me  want  my  scrutoire  till  another  year,  had  cariied  blitheness 
into  the  hearth  of  the  cotter,  and  made  the  widow's  heart  sing 
with  joy ;  and  I  would  have  been  an  unnatural  creature,  had  I 
not  joined  in  the  universal  gladness,  because  plenty  did  abound. 

14 


i 


^'^ 


'j)/r.  Macskipnish: 
C'>PyrigHt  1895  *j»  MacmiUan  d-  C<^ 


r 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER   III 

Year  1762 

Havoc  produced  by  the  small-pox — Charles  Malcolm  is  sent  off  a  cabin- 
boy,  on  a  voyage  to  Virginia — Mizy  Spaewell  dies  on  Hallowe'en — 
Tea  begins  to  be  admitted  at  the  manse,  but  the  minister  continues 
to  exert  his  authority  against  smuggling. 

The  third  year  of  my  ministry  was  long  held  in  remembrance 
for  several  very  memorable  things.  William  Byres  of  the 
Loanhead  had  a  cow  that  calved  two  calves  at  one  calving  ; 
Mrs.  Byres,  the  same  year,  had  twins,  male  and  female  ;  and 
there  was  such  a  crop  on  his  fields,  testifying  that  the  Lord 
never  sends  a  mouth  into  the  world  without  providing  meat  for 
it.  But  what  was  thought  a  very  daunting  sign  of  something, 
happened  on  the  Sacrament  Sabbath  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
action  sermon,  when  I  had  made  a  very  suitable  discourse. 
The  day  was  tempestuous,  and  the  wind  blew  with  such  a 
pith  and  birr,  that  I  thought  it  would  have  twirled  the  trees  in 
the  kirkyard  out  by  the  roots,  and,  blowing  in  this  manner,  it 
tirled  the  thack  from  the  rigging  of  the  manse  stable  ;  and  the 
same  blast  that  did  that,  took  down  the  lead  that  was  on  the 
kirk-roof,  which  hurled  off,  as  I  was  saying,  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  action  sermon,  with  such  a  dreadful  sound,  as  the  like 
was  never  heard,  and  all  the  congregation  thought  that  it 
betokened  a  mutation  to  me.  However,  nothing  particular 
happened  to  me  ;  but  the  small-pox  came  in  among  the  weans 
of  the  parish,  and  the  smashing  that  it  made  of  the  poor  bits 
o'  bairns  was  indeed  woeful. 

One  Sabbath,  when  the  pestilence  was  raging,  I  preached 
a  sermon  about  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  which 
Thomas  Thorl,  who  was  surely  a  great  judge  of  good  preaching, 
said,  'was  a  moniment  of  divinity  whilk  searched  the  heart  of 
many  a  parent  that  day ' ;  a  thing  I  was  well  pleased  to  hear, 
for  Thomas,  as  I  have  related  at  length,  was  the  most  zealous 
champion  against  my  getting  the  parish  ;  but,  from  this  time, 
I  set  him  down  in  my  mind  for  the  next  vacancy  among  the 
elders.     Worthy  man  !  it  was  not  permitted  him  to  arrive  at 

16 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


that  honour.  In  the  fall  of  that  year  he  took  an  income  in  his 
legs,  and  could  no  go  about,  and  was  laid  up  for  the  remainder 
of  his  days,  a  perfect  Lazarus,  by  the  fireside.  But  he  was 
well  supported  in  his  affliction.  In  due  season,  when  it 
pleased  Him  that  alone  can  give  and  take,  to  pluck  him  from 
this  life,  as  the  fruit  ripened  and  ready  for  the  gathering,  his 
death,  to  all  that  knew  him,  was  a  gentle  dispensation,  for 
truly  he  had  been  in  sore  trouble. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  Charlie  Malcolm,  Mrs.  Malcolm's 
eldest  son,  was  sent  to  be  a  cabin-boy  in  the  Tobacco  trader, 
a  three-masted  ship,  that  sailed  between  Port-Glasgow  and 
Virginia  in  America.  She  was  commanded  by  Captain  Dickie, 
an  Irville  man  ;  for  at  that  time  the  Clyde  was  supplied  with 
the  best  sailors  from  our  coast,  the  coal  trade  with  Ireland 
being  a  better  trade  for  bringing  up  good  mariners  than  the 
long  voyages  in  the  open  sea  ;  which  was  the  reason,  as  I 
often  heard  said,  why  the  Clyde  shipping  got  so  many  of 
iheir  men  from  our  country-side.  The  going  to  sea  of  Charlie 
Malcolm  was,  on  divers  accounts,  a  very  remarkable  thing  to 
us  all,  for  he  was  the  first  that  ever  went  from  our  parish,  in 
the  memory  of  man,  to  be  a  sailor,  and  everybody  was 
concerned  at  it,  and  some  thought  it  was  a  great  venture  of 
his  mother  to  let  him,  his  father  having  been  lost  at  sea.  But 
what  could  the  forlorn  widow  do  ?  She  had  five  weans,  and 
little  to  give  them  ;  and,  as  she  herself  said,  he  was  aye  in  the 
hand  of  his  Maker,  go  where  he  might,  and  the  will  of  God 
would  be  done,  in  spite  of  all  earthly  wiles  and  devices  to  the 
contrary. 

On  the  Monday  morning,  when  Charlie  was  to  go  away  to 
meet  the  Irville  carrier  on  the  road,  we  were  all  up,  and  I 
walked  by  myself  from  the  manse  into  the  clachan  to  bid  him 
farewell,  and  I  met  him  just  coming  from  his  mother's  door,  as 
blithe  as  a  bee,  in  his  sailor's  dress,  with  a  stick,  and  a  bundle 
tied  in  a  Barcelona  silk  handkerchief  hanging  o'er  his  shoulder, 
and  his  two  little  brothers  were  with  him,  and  his  sisters,  Kate 
and  Effie,  looking  out  from  the  door  all  begreeten  ;  but  his 
mother  was  in  the  house,  praying  to  the  Lord  to  protect  her 
orphan,  as  she  afterwards  told  me.  All  the  weans  of  the 
clachan  were  gathered  at  the  kirkyard  yett  to  see  him  pass, 
and  they  gave  him  three  great  shouts  as  he  was  going  by  ; 
and    everybody   was    at    their    doors,    and    said    something 

C  17 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

encouraging  to  him  ;  but  there  was  a  great  laugh  when  auld 
Mizy  Spaewell  came  hirpHng  with  her  bachle  in  her  hand,  and 
flung  it  after  him  for  gude  luck.  Mizy  had  a  wonderful  faith 
in  freats,  and  was  just  an  oracle  of  sagacity  at  expounding 
dreams,  and  bodes  of  every  sort  and  description — besides,  she 
was  reckoned  one  of  the  best  howdies  in  her  day  ;  but  by  this 
time  she  was  grown  frail  and  feckless,  and  she  died  the  same 
year  on  Hallowe'en,  which  made  everybody  wonder,  that  it 
should  have  so  fallen  out  for  her  to  die  on  Hallowe'en. 

Shortly  after  the  departure  of  Charlie  Malcolm,  the  Lady  of 
Breadland,  with  her  three  daughters,  removed  to  Edinburgh, 
where  the  young  laird,  that  had  been  my  pupil,  was  learning 
to  be  an  advocate,  and  the  Breadland  House  was  set  to  Major 
Gilchrist,  a  nabob  from  India ;  but  he  was  a  narrow  ailing 
man,  and  his  maiden-sister.  Miss  Girzie,  was  the  scrimpetest 
creature  that  could  be  ;  so  that,  in  their  hands,  all  the  pretty 
policy  of  the  Breadlands,  that  had  cost  a  power  of  money  to 
the  old  laird,  that  was  my  patron,  fell  into  decay  and  disorder ; 
and  the  bonny  yew  trees,  that  were  cut  into  the  shape  of 
peacocks,  soon  grew  out  of  all  shape,  and  are  now  doleful 
monuments  of  the  major's  tack,  and  that  of  Lady  Skim-milk, 
as  Miss  Girzie  Gilchrist,  his  sister,  was  nicknamed  by  every 
ane  that  kent  her. 

IJut  it  was  not  so  much  on  account  of  the  neglect  of  the 
IJreadland,  that  the  incoming  of  Major  Gilchrist  was  to  be 
deplored.  The  old  men,  that  had  a  light  labour  in  keeping 
the  policy  in  order,  were  thrown  out  of  bread,  and  could  do 
little  ;  and  the  poor  women,  that  whiles  got  a  bit  and  a  drap 
from  the  kitchen  of  the  family,  soon  felt  the  change,  so  that  by 
little  and  little,  we  were  obligated  to  give  help  from  the 
Session ;  insomuch,  that  before  the  end  of  the  year,  I  was 
necessitated  to  preach  a  discourse  on  almsgiving,  specially  for 
the  benefit  of  our  own  poor,  a  thing  never  before  known  in  the 
parish. 

But  one  good  thing  came  from  the  Gilchrists  to  Mrs. 
Malcolm.  Miss  Girzie,  whom  they  called  Lady  Skim-milk, 
had  been  in  a  very  penurious  way  as  a  seamstress,  in  the 
Gorbals  of  Glasgow,  while  her  brother  was  making  the  fortune 
in  India,  and  she  was  a  clever  needlewoman — none  better,  as 
it  was  said ;  and  she  having  some  things  to  make,  took  Kate 
Malcolm  to  help  her  in  the  coarse  work ;  and  Kate,  being  a 

x8 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


nimble  and  birky  thing,  was  so  useful  to  the  lady,  and  the 
complaining  man  the  major,  that  they  invited  her  to  stay  with 
them  at  the  lireadland  for  the  winter,  where,  although  she  was 
holden  to  her  seam  from  morning  to  night,  her  food  lightened 
the  hand  of  her  mother,  who,  for  the  first  time  since  her 
coming  into  the  parish,  found  the  penny  for  the  day's  dark 
more  than  was  needed  for  the  meal- basin ;  and  the  tea- 
drinking  was  beginning  to  spread  more  openly,  insomuch,  that, 
by  the  advice  of  the  first  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  Mrs.  Malcolm  took 
in  tea  to  sell,  and  in  this  way  was  enabled  to  eke  something  to 
the  small  profits  of  her  wheel.  Thus  the  tide,  that  had  been 
so  long  ebbing  to  her,  began  to  turn  ;  and  here  I  am  bound 
in  truth  to  say,  that  although  I  never  could  abide  the 
smuggling,  both  on  its  own  account,  and  the  evils  that 
grew  therefrom  to  the  country-side,  I  lost  some  of  my  dislike 
to  the  tea,  after  Mrs.  Malcolm  began  to  traffic  in  it,  and  we 
then  had  it  for  our  breakfast  in  the  morning  at  the  manse,  as 
well  as  in  the  afternoon.  But  what  I  thought  most  of  it  for, 
was,  that  it  did  no  harm  to  the  head  of  the  drinkers,  which  was 
not  always  the  case  with  the  possets  that  were  in  fashion 
before.  There  is  no  meeting  now  in  the  summer  evenings, 
as  I  remember  often  happened  in  my  younger  days,  with 
decent  ladies  coming  home  with  red  faces,  tozy  and  cosh  from 
a  posset  masking ;  so,  both  for  its  temperance,  and  on  account 
of  Mrs.  Malcolm's  sale,  I  refrained  from  the  November  in  this 
year  to  preach  against  tea  ;  but  I  never  lifted  the  weight  of  my 
displeasure  from  off  the  smuggling  trade,  until  it  was  utterly 
put  down  by  the  strong  hand  of  government. 

There  was  no  oth^r  thing  of  note  in  this  year,  saving  only 
that  I  planted  in  the  garden  the  big  pear  tree,  which  had  the 
two  great  branches  that  we  call  the  Auani  and  Eve.  I  got  the 
plant,  then  a  sapling,  from  Mr.  Graft,  that  was  Lord  Egles- 
ham's  head-gardener ;  and  he  said  it  was,  as  indeed  all  the 
parish  now  knows  well,  a  most  juicy  sweet  pear,  such  as  was 
not  known  in  Scotland,  till  my  lord  brought  down  the  father 
plant  from  the  king's  garden  in  London,  in  the  forty-five, 
when  he  went  up  to  testify  his  loyalty  to  the  House  of  Hanover. 


«9 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


1 

'  1 

! 

j 

i 

., 

1 

:|  i    ! 
1 

1 

CHAPTER   IV 

Year  1763 

Charles  Malcolm's  return  from  sea — Kate  Malcolm  is  taken  to  live  with 
Lady  Macadam — Death  of  the  first  Mrs.  Balwhidder. 

The  Ann.  Dom.  1763,  was,  in  many  a  respect,  a  memorable 
year,  both  in  public  and  in  private.  Tlie  king  granted  peace 
to  the  French,  and  Charlie  Malcolm,  that  went  to  sea  in  the 
Tobacco  travler,  came  home  to  see  his  mother.  The  ship, 
after  being  at  America,  had  gone  down  to  Jamaica,  an  island 
in  the  West  Indies,  with  a  cargo  of  live  lumber,  as  Charlie 
told  me  himself,  and  had  come  home  with  more  than  a 
hundred  and  fifty  hoggits  of  sugar,  and  sixty-three  puncheons 
full  of  rum ;  for  she  was,  by  all  accounts,  a  stately  galley,  and 
almost  two  hundred  tons  in  the  burden,  being  the  largest 
vessel  then  sailing  from  the  creditable  town  of  Port-Glasgow. 
Charlie  was  not  expected ;  and  his  coming  was  a  great  thing 
to  us  all,  so  I  will  mention  the  whole  particulars. 

One  evening,  towards  the  gloaming,  as  I  was  taking  my 
walk  of  meditation,  I  saw  a  brisk  sailor  laddie  coming  towards 
me.  He  had  a  pretty  green  parrot,  sitting  on  a  bundle,  tied 
in  a  Barcelona  silk  handkerchief,  which  he  carried  with  a 
stick  over  his  shoulder,  and  in  this  bundle  was  a  wonderful  big 
nut,  such  as  no  one  in  our  parish  had  ever  seen.  It  was  called 
a  cocker-nut.  This  blithe  callant  was  Charlie  Malcolm,  who 
had  come  all  the  way  that  day  his  leaful  lane,  on  his  own  legs 
from  Greenock,  where  the  Tobacco  trader  was  then  'livering 
her  cargo.  I  told  him  how  his  mother,  and  his  brothers,  and 
his  sisters  were  all  in  good  health,  and  went  to  convoy  him 
home  ;  and  as  we  were  going  along,  he  told  me  many  curious 
things,  and  he  gave  me  six  ber.utiful  yellow  limes,  that  he  had 
brought  in  his  pouch  all  the  way  across  the  seas,  for  me  to  make 
a  bowl  of  punch  with,  and  I  thought  more  of  them  than  if  they 
had  been  golden  guineas,  it  was  so  mindful  of  the  laddie. 

When  we  got  to  the  door  of  his  mother's  house,  she  was 
sitting  at  the  fireside,  with  her  three  other  bairns  at  their 
bread  and  milk,  Kate  being  then  with  Lady  Skim-milk,  at  the 

20 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


Breadland,  sewing.  It  was  between  the  day  and  dark,  when 
the  shuttle  stands  still  till  the  lamp  is  lighted.  But  such  a 
shout  of  joy  and  thankfulness  as  rose  from  that  hearth  when 
Charlie  went  in  !  The  very  parrot,  ye  would  have  thought, 
was  a  participator,  for  the  beast  gied  a  skraik  that  made  my 
whole  head  dirl ;  and  the  neighbours  came  flying  and  flocking 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  foi  it  was  the  first  parrot  ever 
seen  within  the  bounds  of  the  parish,  and  some  thought  it  was 
but  a  foreign  hawk,  with  a  yellow  head  and  green  feathers. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this,  Jiffie  Malcolm  had  run  off  to  the 
Breadland  for  her  sister  Kate,  and  the  two  lassies  came  flying 
breathless,  with  Miss  Girzie  Gilchrist,  the  Lady  Skim-milk, 
pursuing  them  like  desperation,  or  a  griffon,  down  the  avenue  ; 
for  Kate,  in  her  hurry,  had  flung  down  her  seam,  a  new 
printed  gown,  that  she  was  helping  to  make,  and  it  had  fallen 
into  a  bcyne  of  milk  that  was  ready  for  the  creaming,  by  which 
ensued  a  double  misfortune  to  Miss  Girzie,  the  gown  being  not 
only  n'.ined,  but  licking  up  the  cream.  For  this,  poor  Kate 
was  not  allowed  ever  to  set  her  face  in  the  Breadland  again. 

When  Charlie  Malcolm  had  staid  about  a  week  with  his 
mother,  he  returned  to  his  birth  in  the  Tobacco  trader,  and 
shortly  after  his  brother  Robert  was  likewise  sent  to  serve  his 
time  to  the  sea,  with  an  owner  that  was  master  of  his  own 
bark,  in  the  coal  trade  at  Irville.  Kate,  who  was  really  a  sur- 
prising lassie  for  her  years,  was  taken  off  her  mother's  hands 
by  the  old  Lady  Macadam,  that  lived  in  her  jointure  house, 
which  is  now  the  Cross  Keys  Inns.  Her  Ladyship  was  a 
woman  of  high-breeding,  her  husband  having  been  a  great 
general,  and  knighted  by  the  king  for  his  exploits ;  but  she 
was  lame,  and  could  not  move  about  in  her  dining-room  with- 
out help,  so  hearing  from  the  first  Mrs.  Balwhidder  how  Kate 
had  done  such  an  unatonable  deed  to  Miss  Girzie  Gilchrist, 
she  sent  for  Kate,  and  finding  her  sharp  and  apt,  she  took  her 
to  live  with  her  as  a  companion.  This  was  a  vast  advantage, 
for  the  lady  ws  •>  versed  in  all  manner  of  accomplishments,  and 
could  read  and  speak  French,  with  more  ease  than  any  pro- 
fessor at  that  time  in  the  Crilege  of  Glasgow  ;  and  she  had 
learnt  to  sew  flowers  on  sai.n,  either  in  a  nunnery  abroad,  or 
in  a  boarding-school  in  England,  and  took  pleasure  in  teaching 
Kate  all  she  knew,  and  how  to  behave  herself  like  a  lady. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  old  Mr.  Patrick  Dilworth,  that 

21 


ff 

I 


» 


'^^M^'^. 


'  The  very  parrot  was  a  partkipatot;' 


ANNALS  OF  THE  TARISH 


had  so  Ion},'  been  doited  with  the  paralytics,  died,  and  it  was  a 
great  relief  to  my  people,  for  the  heritors  could  no  longer 
refuse  to  get  a  proper  schoolmaster  ;  so  we  took  on  trial  Mr. 
Lorimore,  who  has  ever  since  the  year  after,  with  so  much 
credit  to  himself,  and  usefulness  to  the  parish,  been  school- 
master, session-clerk,  and  precentor — a  man  of  great  mildness 
and  extraordinary  particularity.  He  was  then  a  very  young 
man,  and  some  o])jcciion  was  made  on  account  of  his  youth, 
to  his  being  session-clerk,  especially  as  the  smuggling  im- 
morality still  gave  us  much  trouble  in  the  making  up  of 
irregular  marriages  ;  but  his  discretion  was  greater  than  could 
have  been  hoped  for  from  his  years  ;  and  after  a  twelve- 
month's probation  in  the  capacity  of  schoolmastei",  he  was  in- 
stalled in  all  the  offices  that  had  belonged  to  his  predecessor, 
old  Mr.  I'atrick  Dilworth  that  was. 

Hut  the  most  memorable  thing  that  befell  among  my  people 
this  year,  was  the  burning  of  the  lint-mill  on  the  Lugton 
Water,  which  happened,  of  all  the  days  of  the  year,  on  the 
very  self-same  day  that  Miss  Ciirzie  Gilchrist,  better  known  as 
Lady  Skim-milk,  hired  the  chaise  from  Mrs.  Watts  of  the  New 
Inns  of  Irville,  to  go  with  her  brother  the  major  to  consult 
the  faculty  in  Edinburgh  concerning  his  complaints.  For,  as 
the  chaise  was  coming  by  the  mill,  William  Hucklc,  the  miller 
that  was,  came  flying  out  of  the  mill  like  a  demented  man, 
crying  fire  ! — and  it  was  the  driver  that  brought  the  melan- 
choly tidings  to  the  clachan — and  melancholy  they  were  ;  for 
the  mill  was  utterly  destroyed,  and  in  it  not  a  little  of  all  that 
year's  crop  of  lint  in  our  parish.  The  first  Mrs.  I5alwhidder 
lost  upwards  of  twelve  stone,  which  we  had  raised  on  the 
glebe  with  no  small  pains,  watering  it  in  the  drouth,  as  it  was 
intended  for  sarking  to  ourselves,  and  sheets  and  napery.  A 
great  loss  indeed  it  was,  and  the  vexation  thereof  had  a  visible 
effect  on  Mrs.  Balwhidder's  health,  which  from  the  spring  had 
been  in  a  dwining  way.  But  for  it,  I  think  she  might  have 
wrestled  through  the  winter  ;  however,  it  was  ordered  other- 
wise, and  she  was  removed  from  mine  to  Abraham's  bosom  on 
Christmas  day,  and  buried  on  Hogma.iae,  for  it  was  thought 
uncanny  to  have  a  dead  corpse  in  the  house  on  the  New  Year's 
day.  She  was  a  worthy  woman,  studying  with  all  her  capa- 
city to  win  the  hearts  of  my  people  towards  me — in  the  which 
good  work  she  prospered  greatly  ;  so  that  when  she   died, 

23 


'I'  1 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

there  was  not  a  single  soul  in  the  parish  that  was  not  con- 
tented with  both  my  walk  and  conversation.  Nothing  could 
be  more  peaceable  than  the  way  we  lived  together.  Her 
brother  Andrew,  a  fine  lad,  I  had  sent  to  the  College  at  Glas- 
gow, at  my  own  cost,  and  when  he  came  out  to  the  burial,  he 
staid  with  me  a  month,  for  the  manse  after  her  decease  was 
very  dull,  and  it  was  during  this  visit  that  he  gave  me  an  ink- 
ling of  his  wish  to  go  out  to  India  as  a  cadet,  but  the  trans- 
actions anent  that  fall  within  the  scope  of  another  year — as 
well  as  what  relates  to  her  headstone,  and  the  epitaph  in 
metre,  which  I  indited  myself  thereon  ;  John  Truel,  the  mason, 
carving  the  same,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  kirkyard,  where  it 
wants  a  little  reparation  and  setting  upright,  having  settled  the 
wrong  way  when  the  second  Mrs.  Balwhidder  was  laid  by  her 
side.     But  I  must  not  here  enter  upon  an  anticipation. 


I 


;   , 


CHAPTER   V 

Year  1764 

He  gets  a  headstone  for  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  and  \vrites  an  epitaph  for  it — 
He  is  afflicted  with  melancholy,  and  thinks  of  writing  a  book — 
Nichol  Snipe  the  gamekeeper's  device  when  reproved  in  church. 

This  year  well  deserved  the  name  of  the  monumental  year  in 
our  parish ;  for  the  young  Laird  of  the  Breadland,  that  had 
been  my  pupil,  being  learning  to  be  an  advocate  among  the 
faculty  in  Edinburgh,  with  his  lady  mother,  who  had  removed 
thither  with  the  young  ladies  her  daughters,  for  the  benefit  of 
education,  sent  out  to  be  put  up  in  the  kirk,  under  the  loft 
over  the  family  vault,  an  elegant  marble  headstone,  with  an 
epitaph  engraven  thereon,  in  fair  Latin,  setting  forth  many 
excellent  qualities  which  the  old  laird,  my  patron  that  was,  the 
inditer  thereof,  said  he  possessed.  I  say  the  inditer,  because 
it  could  no  have  been  the  young  laird  himself,  although  he  go*^ 
the  credit  o't  on  the  stone,  for  he  was  nae  daub  in  my  aught 
at  the  Latin  or  any  other  language.  However,  he  might 
improve  himself  at  Edinburgh,  where  a'  manner  of  genteel 
things  were  then  to  be  got  at  an  easy  rate,  and  doubtless,  the 


24 


.".:     -*♦- 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

young  laird  got  a  probationer  at  the  College  to  write  the 
epitaph  ;  but  I  have  often  wondered  sin'  syne,  how  he  came 
to  make  it  in  Latin,  for  assuredly  his  dead  parent,  if  he  could 
have  seen  it,  could  not  have  read  a  single  word  o't,  notwith- 
standing it  was  so  vaunty  about  his  virtues,  and  other  civil 
and  hospitable  qualifications. 

The  coming  of  the  laird's  monumental  stone  had  a  great 
effect  on  me,  then  in  a  state  of  deep  despondency  for  the  loss 
of  the  first  Mrs.  Balwhiddcr  ;  and  I  thought  1  could  not  do  a 
better  thing,  just  by  way  of  diversion  in  my  heavy  sorrow,  than 
to  get  a  well-shapen  headstone  made  for  her — whi(  h,  as  I 
have  hinted  at  in  the  record  of  the  last  year,  was  done  and  set 
up.  But  a  headstone  without  an  epitaph  is  no  better  than  a 
body  without  the  breath  of  life  in'i  ;  and  so  it  behoved  me  to 
make  a  posey  for  the  monument,  the  which  I  conned  and 
pondered  upon  for  many  days.  I  thought  as  Mrs.  iJalwhidder, 
worthy  woman  as  she  was,  did  not  understand  the  Latin  tongue, 
it  would  not  do  to  put  on  what  I  had  to  say  in  that  language, 
as  the  laird  had  done — nor  indeed  would  it  have  been  easy,  as 
I  found  upon  the  experimenting,  to  tell  what  I  had  to  tell  in 
Latin,  which  is  naturally  a  crabbed  language,  and  very  difficult 
to  write  properly.  I  therefore,  after  mentioning  her  age  and 
the  dates  of  her  birth  and  departure,  composed  in  sedate 
poetry,  the  following  epitaph,  which  may  yet  be  seen  on  the 
tombstone. 


EPITAPH 

'A  lovely  Christian,  spouse,  and  friend, 
Pleasant  in  life,  and  at  her  end. 
A  pale  consumption  dealt  the  blow 
That  laid  her  here,  with  dust  below. 
Sore  was  the  cough  that  shook  her  frame  ; 
That  cough  her  patience  did  proclaim — 
And  as  she  drew  her  latest  breath. 
She  said,  "The  Lord  is  sweet  in  death." 
O  pious  reader,  standing  by, 
Learn  like  this  gentle  one  to  die. 
The  grass  doth  grow  and  fade  away, 
And  time  runs  out  by  night  and  day  ; 
The  King  of  Terrors  has  command 
To  strike  us  with  his  dart  in  hand. 
Go  where  we  will  by  flood  or  field, 

•5 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

He  will  pursue  and  nuke  us  yieUl. 
lUit  though  to  him  we  must  rcsij^n 
The  vesture  of  our  part  divine, 
There  is  a  jewel  in  our  trust, 
That  will  not  perish  in  the  dust, 
A  pearl  of  price,  a  precious  gem, 
Ordain'd  for  Jesus'  diadem  ; 
Therefore  be  holy  while  you  can, 
And  think  upon  the  doom  of  man. 
Kcjient  in  time  and  sin  no  more, 
That  when  the  strife  of  life  is  o'er. 
On  winjTS  of  love  your  soul  may  rise, 
To  dwell  with  angels  in  the  skies, 
Where  psalms  are  sung  eternally, 
And  martyrs  ne'er  again  shall  die  ; 
lUit  with  the  saints  still  bask  in  bliss, 
And  drink  the  cup  of  blessedness. ' 

This  was  prcatly  thought  of  at  the  time,  and  Mr.  Lorimor.', 
who  had  a  nerve  for  poesy  himself  in  his  younger  years,  wa.' 
of  opinion  that  it  was  so  much  to  the  purpose  and  suitable 
withal,  that  he  made  his  scholars  write  it  out  for  their 
examination  copies,  at  the  reading  whereof  before  the  heritors, 
when  the  examination  of  the  school  came  round,  the  tear  came 
into  my  eye,  and  eveiy  one  present  sympathised  with  me  in 
my  great  affliction  for  the  loss  of  the  first  Mrs.  Balvvhiddcr. 

Andrew  Lanshaw,  as  I  have  recorded,  having  come  from 
the  Glasgow  College  to  the  burial  of  his  sister,  my  wife  that  was, 
staid  with  ine  a  month  to  keep  me  company  ;  and  staying  with 
me,  he  was  a  great  cordial,  for  the  weather  was  wet  and  sleety, 
and  the  nights  were  storm^',  so  that  I  could  go  little  out,  and 
few  of  the  elders  came  in,  '  iey  being  at  that  time  old  men  in  a 
feckless  condition,  not  at  all  qualified  to  warsle  with  the  blasts 
of  winter.  But  when  Andrew  left  me  to  go  back  to  his  classes, 
I  w.as  eirie  and  lonesome,  and  but  for  the  getting  of  the  monu- 
ment ready,  which  was  a  blessed  entertainment  to  me  in  those 
dreary  nights,  with  consulting  anent  the  shape  of  it  with  John 
Truel,  and  meditating  on  the  verse  for  the  epitaph,  I  might 
have  gone  altogether  demented.  However,  it  pleased  Him, 
who  is  the  surety  of  the  sinner,  to  help  me  through  the  Slough 
of  Despond,  and  to  set  my  feet  on  firm  land,  establishing  my 
way  thereon. 

Hut  the  work  of  the  monument,  and  the  epitaph,  could  not 

26 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


ists 
ies, 


|.hn 

M, 


lot 


endure  for  a  constancy,  and  after  it  was  done,  I  was  again  in 
great  danger  of  sinking  into  the  hypochonderies  a  second  time. 
However,  I  was  enabled  to  fight  with  my  affliction,  and  by 
and  by,  as  the  spring  began  to  open  her  green  lattice,  and  to 
set  out  her  flower-pots  to  the  sunshine,  and  the  time  of  the 
singing  of  birds  was  come,  I  became  more  composed,  and 
like  myself,  so  I  often  walked  in  the  fields,  and  held  com- 
munion with  nature,  and  wondered  at  the  mysteries  thereof. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  as  I  was  sauntering  along  the 
edge  of  Eglesham  Wood,  looking  at  the  industrious  bee  going 
from  flower  to  flower,  and  the  idle  butterfly,  that  layeth  up  no 
store,  but  perisheth  ere  it  is  winter,  I  felt  as  it  were  a  spirit 
from  on  high  d:;scending  upon  me,  a  throb  at  my  heart,  and  a 
thrill  in  my  brain,  and  I  was  transported  out  of  myself,  and 
seized  with  the  notion  of  writing  a  book — but  what  it  should  be 
about,  I  could  not  settle  to  my  satisfaction :  sometimes  I 
thought  of  an  orthodox  poem,  like  Paradise  Losi^  by  John 
Milton,  wherein  I  proposed  to  treat  more  at  large  of  Original 
Sin,  and  the  great  mystery  of  Redemption  ;  at  others,  I  fancied 
that  a  connect  treatise  on  the  efficacy  of  Free  (irace  would  be 
more  taking  ;  but  although  I  made  divers  beginnings  in  both 
subjects,  some  new  thought  ever  came  into  my  head,  and  the 
whole  summer  passed  away  and  nothing  was  done.  I  there- 
fore postponed  my  design  of  writing  a  book  till  the  winter, 
when  I  would  have  the  benefit  of  the  long  nights.  Before 
that,  however,  I  had  other  things  of  more  importance  to  think 
about :  my  servant  lasses,  having  no  eye  of  a  mistress  over 
them,  wastered  everything  at  such  a  rate,  and  made  such  a 
galravitching  in  the  house,  that,  long  before  the  end  of  the 
year,  the  year's  stipend  was  all  spent,  and  I  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  At  larig  and  length  I  mustered  courage  to  send 
for  Mr.  Auld,  who  was  then  living,  and  an  elder.  He  was  a 
douce  and  discreet  man,  fair  and  well-doing  in  the  world,  and 
had  a  better  handful  of  strong  common  sense  than  many  even 
of  the  heritors.  So  I  told  him  how  I  was  situated,  and  con- 
ferred with  him,  and  he  advised  me,  for  my  own  sake,  to  look 
out  for  another  wife  as  soon  as  decency  would  allow,  which  he 
thought  might  very  properly  be  after  the  turn  of  the  year,  by 
which  time  the  first  Mrs.  Balwhidder  would  be  dead  more 
than  twelve  months  ;  and  when  I  mentioned  my  design  to 
write  a  book,  he  said  (and  he  was  a  man  of  good  discretion) 

27 


11.1 

\\\ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


that  the  doing  of  the  book  was  a  thing  that  would  keep,  but 
wasterful  servants  were  a  growing  evil ;  so,  upon  his  counsel- 
ling, I  resolved  not  to  meddle  with  the  book  till  I  was  married 
again,  but  employ  the  interim,  between  then  and  the  turn  of 
the  year,  in  looking  out  for  a  prudent  woman  to  be  my  second 
wife,  strictly  intending,  as  I  did  perform,  not  to  mint  a  word 
about  my  choice,  if  I  made  one,  till  the  whole  twelve  months 
and  a  day,  from  the  date  of  the  first  Mrs.  Jialwlii'lder's  inter- 
ment, had  run  out. 

In  this  the  hand  of  I^rovidence  was  very  vibible,  aiid  lucky 
for  me  it  was  that  I  had  sent  for  Mr.  Auld  when  I  did  send, 
as  the  very  week  following,  a  sound  began  to  spread  in  the 
parish,  that  one  of  my  lassies  had  got  herself  with  bairn, 
which  was  an  awful  thing  to  think  had  happened  in  the 
house  of  her  master,  and  that  master  a  minister  of  the  Gospel. 
Some  there  were,  for  backbiting  appertaineth  to  all  conditions, 
that  jaloused  and  wondered  if  I  had  not  a  finger  in  the 
pye  ;  which,  when  Mr.  Auld  heard,  he  bestirred  himself  in 
such  a  manful  and  godly  way  in  my  defence,  as  silenced  the 
clash,  telling  that  I  was  utterly  incapable  of  any  such  thing, 
being  a  man  of  a  guileless  heart,  and  a  spiritual  simplicity, 
that  would  be  ornamental  in  a  child.  We  then  had  the 
latheron  s'-mmoned  before  the  Session,  and  was  not  long  of 
making  her  confess  that  the  father  was  Nichol  Snipe,  Lord 
Glencairn's  gamekeeper ;  and  both  her  and  Nichol  were  ob- 
ligated to  stand  in  the  kirk,  but  Nichol  was  a  graceless  re- 
probate, for  ne  came  with  two  coats,  one  buttoned  behind  hin, 
and  another  buttoned  before  him,  and  two  wigs  of  my  lord'  ?, 
lent  him  by  the  valet-de-chamer ;  the  one  over  his  face,  and 
the  other  in  the  right  way ;  and  he  stood  wiih  his  face  to  the 
church  wall.  When  I  saw  him  from  the  pu'pit,  I  said  to  him, 
'  Nichol,  you  must  turn  your  face  towards  me  ! '  At  the 
which,  he  turned  round  to  be  sure,  but  there  he  presented  the 
same  show  as  his  back.  I  wa-^  confounded,  and  did  not  know 
what  to  say,  but  cried  out,  with  a  voice  of  anger,  '  Nichol, 
Nichol  !  if  ye  had  been  a'  back,  ye  would  naf»  hae  been  there 
this  day ' ;  which  had  such  an  effect  on  the  whole  congrega- 
tion, that  the  poor  fellow  suffered  afterwards  more  derision, 
than  if  1  had  rebuked  him  in  the  manner  prescribed  by  the 
Session. 

This  affair,   with  the  previous  advice  of  Mr.  Auld,  was, 

28 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

however,  a  warning'  to  me,  that  no  pastor  of  his  parish  should 
be  long  without  a  helpmate.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the 
year  was  oui,  I  set  myself  earnestly  about  the  search  for  one, 
but  as  the  particulars  fall  properly  within  the  scope  and 
chronicle  of  the  next  year,  I  must  reserve  them  for  it ;  and  I 
do  not  recollect  that  anything  more  particular  befell  in  this, 
excepting  that  William  Mutchkins,  the  father  of  Mr.  Mutchkins, 
the  great  spirit-dealer  in  Glasgow,  set  up  a  change-house  in 
the  clachan,  which  was  the  first  in  the  parish,  and  which,  if 
I  could  have  helped,  it  would  have  been  the  last ;  for  it  was 
opening  a  howf  to  all  manner  of  wickedness,  and  was  an 
immediate  get  and  offspring  of  the  smuggling  tr.ide,  against 
which  I  had  so  set  my  countenance.  But  William  Mutchkins 
himself  was  a  respectable  man,  uid  no  house  could  be  better 
ordered  than  his  change.  At  a  stated  hour  he  made  family 
worship,  for  he  brought  up  his  children  in  the  fear  of  God  and 
the  Christian  religion  ;  and  although  the  house  was  full,  he 
would  go  into  the  customers,  and  ask  them  if  they  would  want 
anything  for  half  an  hour,  for  that  he  was  going  to  make 
exerci'".e  with  his  family  ;  and  many  a  wayfaring  traveller  has 
joined  in  the  prayer.  There  is  no  such  thing,  I  fear,  nowa- 
days, of  publicans  entertaining  travellers  in  this  manner. 


CHAPTER   VI 

Year  1765 

Establishment  of  a  whisky  distillery — He  is  again  married  to  Miss  Lizy 
Kibbotk-  Her  industry  in  the  dairy — Her  example  diffuses  a  spirit 
of  industry  through  the  parish. 


As  there  was  little  in  the  last  year  that  concerned  the  parish, 
but  only  myself,  so  m  this  lie  like  fortune  continued  ;  and 
saving  a  rise  in  the  pric*^  of  barley,  occasioned,  as  was  thought, 
by  the  establishm€;nt  </f  ;*  house  for  brewing  whisky  in  a 
neighbouring  parish,  it  could  not  be  said  that  my  people  were 
exposed  to  the  mutati//ns  and  influences  of  the  stars  which 
ruled  in  the  seasons  of  Ann,  J>om.  1765,  In  the  winter  there 
was  a  dearth  of  fuel,  such  as  has  not  been  since  ;  for  when 

«9 


IP 


; 

1 

1 H.  1 

ANNALS  OF  THE  PAKISII 

the  spring  loosened  the  bonds  of  the  ice,  three  new  coal-heughs 
were  shanked  in  the  Douray  Moor,  and  ever  since  there  has 
been  a  great  plf^nty  of  that  necessary  article.  Truly,  it  is 
very  wonderful  to  see  how  things  come  round  ;  when  the  talk 
was  about  the  shanking  of  their  heughs,  and  a  paper  to  get 
folk  to  take  shares  in  them,  was  carried  through  the  circum- 
jacent parishes,  it  was  thought  a  gowk's  errand  ;  but  no  sooner 
was  the  coal  reached,  but  up  sprung  such  a  traffic,  that  it 
was  a  God-send  to  the  parish,  .md  the  opening  of  a  trade  and 
commerce  that  has,  to  use  an  old  bye-word,  brought  gold  in 
gowpins  amang  us.  From  that  time  my  stipend  has  been  on 
the  regular  increase,  and  therefore  I  think  that  the  incoming 
of  the  heritors  must  have  been  in  like  manner  augmented. 

Soon  after  this,  the  time  was  drawing  near  for  my  second 
marriage,  I  had  placed  my  affections,  with  due  consideration, 
on  Miss  L.zy  Kibbock,  the  well-brought-up  daughter  of  Mr. 
Joseph  Kibbock  of  the  Gorbyholm,  who  was  the  first  that 
made  a  speculation  in  the  farming  way  in  Ayrshire,  and  whose 
cheese  were  of  such  an  excellent  quality,  that  they  have,  under 
the  name  of  Delap  cheese,  spread  far  and  wide  over  the 
civilised  world.  Miss  Lizy  and  me  were  married  on  the  29th 
day  of  April,  with  some  inconvenience  to  both  sides,  on 
account  of  the  dread  that  we  had  of  being  married  in  May,  for 
it  is  said, 

*  Of  the  marriages  in  May, 
The  bairns  die  of  a  decay.' 

However,  married  we  were,  and  we  hired  the  Irville  chaise, 
and  with  Miss  Jenny  her  sister,  and  Becky  Cairns  her  niece, 
who  sat  on  a  portmanty  at  our  feet,  we  went  on  a  pleasure 
jaunt  to  Glasgow,  where  we  bought  a  miracle  of  useful  things 
for  the  manse,  that  neither  the  first  Mrs.  IJalwhidder  nor  me 
ever  thought  of;  but  the  second  Mrs.  Balwhidder  that  was, 
had  a  geni  for  management,  and  it  was  extraordinary  what  she 
could  go  through.  Well  may  I  speak  of  her  with  commenda- 
tions, for  she  was  the  bee  that  made  my  honey,  although  at 
first  things  did  not  go  so  clear  with  us.  For  she  found  the 
manse  rookit  and  herrit,  and  there  was  such  a  supply  of  plen- 
ishing of  all  sort  wanted,  that  I  thought  myself  ruined  and 
undone  by  her  care  and  industry.  There  was  such  a  buying  of 
wool  to  make  blankets,  with  a  booming  of  the  meikle  wheel  to 

30 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


spin  the  same,  and  such  birring  of  the  Httle  wheel  for  sheets 
and  napery,  that  the  manse  was  for  many  a  day  hke  an  organ 
kist.  Then  we  had  milk  cows,  and  the  calves  to  bring  up,  and 
a  kirning  of  butter,  and  a  making  of  cheese  ;  in  short,  I  was 
almost  by  myself  with  the  jangle  and  din,  which  prevented  me 
from  writing  a  book  as  I  had  proposed,  and  I  for  a  time 
thought  of  the  peaceful  and  kindly  nature  of  the  first  Mrs. 
lialwhidder  with  a  sigh  ;  but  the  outcoming  was  soon  manifest. 
The  second  Mrs.  lialwhidder  sent  her  butter  on  the  market- 
days  to  Irville,  and  her  cheese  from  time  to  time  to  Glasgow, 
to  Mrs.  Firlot,  that  kept  the  huxtry  in  the  Saltmarket,  and  they 
were  both  so  well  made,  that  our  dairy  was  just  a  coining  of 
11  "^  V.  insomuch,  that  after  the  first  year,  we  had  the  whole 
tot  of  my  stipend  to  put  untouched  into  the  bank. 

But  I  must  say,  that  although  we  were  thus  making  siller 
like  sclate  stones,  I  was  not  satisfied  in  my  own  mind  that  I 
had  got  the  manse  merely  to  be  a  factory  of  butter  and  cheese, 
and  to  breed  up  veal  calves  for  the  slaughter  ;  so  I  spoke  to 
the  second  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  and  pointed  out  to  her  what  I 
thought  the  "'ror  of  our  way  ;  but  she  had  been  so  ingrained 
with  the  profitable  management  of  cows  and  grumphies  in  her 
father's  house,  that  she  could  not  desist,  at  the  which  I  was 
greatly  grieved.  By  and  by,  however,  1  began  to  discern 
that  there  was  something  as  good  in  her  example  as  the  giving 
of  alms  to  the  poor  folk.  For  all  the  wives  of  the  parish  were 
stirred  up  by  it  into  a  wonderful  thrift,  and  nothing  was  heard 
of  in  every  house,  but  of  quiltings  and  wabs  to  weave  ;  inso- 
much, that  before  many  years  came  round,  there  was  not  a 
better-stocked  parish,  with  blankets  and  naperj ,  than  mine  was, 
within  the  bo     ^U  of  Scotland. 

It  was  about  i»c  Michaelmas  of  this  year  that  Mrs.  Malcolm 
opened  her  shop,  which  she  did  chiefly  on  the  advice  of 
Mrs.  Balwhidder,  who  said  it  was  far  better  to  allow  a  little 
profit  on  the  different  haberdasheries  that  might  be  wanted, 
than  to  send  to  the  neighbouring  towns  an  end's  errand  on 
purpose  for  them,  none  of  the  lasses  that  were  so  sent  e\er 
thinking  of  making  less  thact  a  day's  play  on  every  such 
occasion.  In  a  word,  it  is  BOt  to  be  told  how  the  second 
Mrs.  Balwhidder,  my  wtft,  sinwed  the  value  of  flnng  time, 
even  to  the  concerns  of  tins  world,  and  was  the  mean  of 
giving  a  Idiie  and  energy  to  the  housewifery  of  the  parish, 

3» 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


that  has  made  many  a  one  beek  his  shins  in  comfort,  that 
would  otherwise  have  had  but  a  cold  coal  to  blow  at.  Indeed, 
Mr.  Kibbock,  her  father,  was  a  man  beyond  the  common, 
and  had  an  insight  of  things,  by  which  he  was  enabled  to 
draw  profit  and  advantage,  where  others  could  only  see  risk 
and  detriment.  He  planted  mounts  of  fir-trees  on  the  bleak 
and  barren  tops  of  the  hills  of  his  farm,  the  which  everybody, 
and  I  among  the  rest,  considered  as  a  thrashing  of  the  water, 
and  raising  of  bells.  But  as  his  tack  ran  his  trees  grew, 
and  the  plantations  supplied  him  with  stabs  to  make  stake 
and  rice  between  his  fields,  which  soon  gave  them  a  trig 
and  orderly  appearance,  such  as  had  never  before  been  seen 
in  the  west  country  ;  and  his  example  has,  in  this  matter, 
been  so  followed,  that  I  have  heard  travellers  say,  who  have 
been  in  foreign  countries,  that  the  shire  of  Ayr,  for  its  bonny 
round  green  plantings  on  the  tops  of  the  hills,  is  above  com- 
parison either  with  Italy  or  Switzerland,  where  the  hills  are, 
as  it  were,  in  a  state  of  nature. 

Upon  the  whole,  this  was  a  busy  year  in  the  parish,  and 
the  seeds  of  many  great  improvements  were  laid.  The  king's 
road,  which  then  ran  through  the  Vennel,  was  mended  ;  but 
it  was  .;ot  till  some  years  after,  as  I  shall  record  by  and  by, 
that  the  trust  road,  as  it  was  called,  was  made,  the  which 
had  the  effect  of  turnmg  the  town  inside  out. 

Hcforc  I  conclude,  it  is  proper  to  mention  that  the  kirk- 
beil,  which  had  to  this  time,  from  time  immemorial,  hung  on 
an  ash-tree,  was  one  stormy  night  cast  down  by  the  breaking 
of  the  branch,  which  was  the  cause  of  the  heritors  agreeing 
to  build  the  steeple.  The  clock  was  a  mortification  to  the 
parish  from  the  Lady  Brcadland,  when  she  died  some  years 
after. 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER  VII 


\' 


EAR    1766 


The  burning  of  the  Broadland — A  new  hell,  find  also  a  steeple — Nanse 
Birrel  found  drowned  in  a  well — The  parish  troubled  with  wild  Irish- 
men. 


It  was  in  this  Ann.  Dom.  that  the  great  calamity  happened, 
the  which  took  place  on  a  Sabbath  evening  in  the  monlh 
of  February.  Mrs.  Balwhidder  had  just  infused  or  masket 
the  tea,  and  we  were  set  round  the  fireside  to  spend  the 
night  in  an  orderly  and  religious  manner,  along  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Petticrew,  who  were  on  a  friendly  visitation  to  the 
manse,  the  mistress  being  full  cousin  to  Mrs.  Balwhidder, 
Sitting,  as  I  was  saying,  at  our  tea,  one  of  the  servant  lasses 
came  into  the  room  with  a  sort  of  a  panic  laugh,  and  said, 
'  What  are  ye  all  doing  there  when  the  Breadland's  in  a 
low  ? '  ♦  The  Breadland  in  a  low  ! '  cried  I.  *  Oh,  ay,'  cried 
she  ;  '  bleezing  at  the  windows  and  the  rigging,  and  out  at 
the  lum,  like  a  killogie.'  Upon  the  which,  we  all  went  to 
the  door,  and  there,  to  be  sure,  we  did  see  that  the  Breadland 
was  burning,  the  flames  crackling  high  out  o'er  the  trees, 
and  the  sparks  flying  like  a  comet's  tail  in  the  firmament. 

Seeing  this  sight,  I  said  to  Mr.  Petticrew  that,  in  the 
strength  of  the  Lord,  I  would  go  and  see  what  could  be  done, 
for  it  was  as  plain  as  the  sun  in  the  heavens,  that  the  ancient 
place  of  the  Breadlands  would  be  destroyed  ;  whereupon  he 
accorded  to  go  with  me,  and  we  walked  at  a  lively  course 
to  the  spot,  and  the  people  from  all  quarters  were  pouring  in, 
and  it  was  an  awsome  scene.  But  the  burning  of  the  house, 
and  the  droves  of  the  multitude,  were  nothing  to  what  we 
saw  when  we  got  forenent  the  place.  There  was  the  rafters 
crackling,  the  flames  raging,  the  servants  running,  some 
with  bedding,  some  with  looking-glasses,  and  others  with 
chamber  utensils,  as  little  likely  to  be  fuel  to  the  fire,  but  all 
testifications  to  the  confusion  and  alarm.  Then  there  was  a 
shout,  '  What's  Miss  Girzie  ?  whar's  the  major  ? '  The  major, 
poor  man,  soon  cast  up,  lying  upon  a  feather-bed,  ill  with 
his  complaints,  in  the  garden  ;  but  Lady  Skim-milk  was  no- 

i>  33 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

where  to  be  found.  At  last,  a  figure  was  seen  in  the  upper 
flat,  pursued  by  the  flames,  and  that  was  Miss  Girzie.  Oh  ! 
it  was  a  terrible  sight  to  look  at  her  in  that  jeopardy  at  the 
window,  with  her  gold  watch  in  the  one  hand  and  the  silver 
teapot  in  the  other,  skreighing  like  desperation  for  a  ladder 
and  help.  But  before  a  ladder  or  help  could  be  found,  the 
floor  sunk  down,  and  the  roof  fell  in,  and  poor  Miss  Girzie, 
with  her  idols,  perished  in  the  burning.  It  was  a  dreadful 
business ;  I  think  to  this  hour,  how  I  saw  her  at  the  window, 
how  the  fire  came  in  behind  her,  and  claught  her  like  a  fiery 
Belzebub,  and  bore  her  into  perdition  before  our  eyes.  The 
next  morning  the  atomy  of  the  body  was  found  among  the 
rubbish,  with  a  piece  of  metal  in  what  had  been  each  of  its 
hands,  no  doubt  the  gold  watch  and  the  silver  teapot.  Such 
was  the  end  of  Miss  Girzie,  and  the  Breadland,  which  the 
young  laird,  my  pupil  that  was,  by  growing  a  resident  at 
Edinburgh,  never  rebuilt.  It  was  burnt  to  the  very  ground, 
nothing  was  spared  but  what  the  servants  in  the  first  flaught 
gathered  up  in  a  hurry  and  ran  with,  but  no  one  could  tell 
how  the  major,  who  was  then,  as  it  was  thought  by  the 
faculty,  past  the  power  of  nature  to  recover,  got  out  of  the 
house,  and  was  laid  on  the  feather-bed  in  the  garden.  How- 
ever, he  never  got  the  better  of  that  night,  and  before 
Whitsunday  he  was  dead  too,  and  buried  beside  his  sister's 
bones  at  the  south  side  of  the  kirkyard  dyke,  where  his 
cousin's  son,  that  was  his  heir,  erected  the  handsome  monu- 
ment, with  the  three  urns  and  weeping  cherubims,  bearing 
witness  to  the  great  valour  of  the  major  among  the  Hindoos, 
as  well  as  other  commendable  virtues,  for  which,  as  the 
epitaph  says,  he  was  universally  esteemed  and  belovel  by 
all  who  knew  him,  in  his  public  and  private  capacity. 

But  although  the  burning  of  the  Breadland  House  was 
justly  called  the  great  calamity,  on  account  of  what  happened 
to  Miss  Girzie,  with  her  golu  watch  and  silver  teapot,  yet,  as 
Providence  never  fails  to  bring  good  out  of  evil,  it  turned  out 
a  catastrophe  that  proved  advantageous  to  the  parish  ;  for  the 
laird,  instead  of  thinking  to  build  it  up,  was  advised  to  let  the 
policy  out  as  a  farm,  and  the  tack  was  taken  by  Mr.  Coulter, 
than  whom  there  had  been  no  such  man  in  the  agriculturing 
line  among  us  before,  not  even  excepting  Mr.  Kibbock  of  the 
Gorbyholm,  my  father-in-law  that  was.     Of  the  stabling,  Mr. 

34 


^ 


by 


er, 

ng 
he 


'Ajigure  was  seen  in  the  upptrjiat. ' 


'm 


\ 


y\ 


j 
! 


\ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


1 


Coulter  made  a  comfortable  dwelling-house,  and  having  rugget 
out  the  evergreens  and  other  unprofitable  plants,  saving  the 
twa  ancient  yew-trees  which  the  near- begun  major  and  his 
sister  had  left  to  go  to  ruin  about  the  mansion-house,  he 
turned  all  to  production,  and  it  was  wonderful  what  an  increase 
he  made  the  land  bring  forth.  He  was  from  far  beyond 
Edinburgh,  and  had  got  his  insight  among  the  Lothian 
farmers,  so  that  he  knt.-  whpi:  crop  should  follow  another, 
and  nothing  could  surpass  the  regularity  of  his  rigs  and 
furrows.  Well  do  I  remember  the  admiration  that  I  had, 
when,  in  a  fine  sunny  morning  of  the  first  spring  after  he  took 
the  Breadland,  I  saw  his  braird  on  what  had  been  the  cows' 
grass,  as  even  and  pretty  as  if  it  had  been  worked  and  stripped 
in  the  loom  with  a  shuttle.  Truly,  when  I  look  back  at  the 
example  he  set,  and  when  I  think  on  the  method  and  dexterity 
of  his  management,  I  must  say,  that  his  coming  to  the  parish 
was  a  great  Cd-send,  and  tended  to  do  far  more  for  the 
benefit  of  my  people,  than  if  the  young  laird  had  rebuilded 
the  Breadland  House  in  a  fashionable  style,  as  was  at  one 
time  spoken  of. 

But  the  year  of  the  grea^  calamity  was  memorable  for 
another  thing.  In  the  December  foregoing,  the  wind  blew, 
as  I  have  recorded  in  the  chronicle  of  the  last  year,  and 
broke  down  the  bough  of  the  tree,  whereon  the  kirk-bell  had 
hung  from  the  time,  as  was  supposed,  of  the  Persecution, 
before  the  bringing  over  of  King  William.  Mr.  Kibbock, 
my  father-in-law  then  that  was,  being  a  man  of  a  discerning 
spirit,  when  he  heard  of  the  unfortunate  fall  of  the  bell, 
advised  me  to  get  the  heritors  to  big  a  steeple,  but  which, 
when  I  thought  of  the  expense,  I  was  afraid  to  do.  He, 
however,  having  a  great  skill  in  the  heart  of  man,  gave  me 
no  rest  on  the  subject,  but  told  me,  that  if  I  allowed  the 
time  to  go  by,  till  the  heritors  were  used  to  come  to  the  kirk 
without  a  bell,  I  would  get  no  steeple  at  all.  I  often  wondered 
what  made  Mr.  Kibbock  so  fond  of  a  steeple,  which  is  a  thing 
that  I  never  could  set  a  good  reason  for,  saving  that  it  is  an 
ecclesiastical  adjunct,  like  the  gown  and  bands.  However, 
he  set  me  on  to  get  a  steeple  proposed,  and  after  no  little 
argol-bargling  with  the  heritors,  it  was  agreed  to.  This  was 
chiefly  owing  to  the  instrumentality  of  Lady  Moneyplack,  who 
in  that   winter  was  much  subjected  to  the  rheumatics,   she 


>' 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


II 


having  one  cold  and  raw  Sunday  morning,  there  being  no 
bell  to  announce  the  time,  come  half  an  hour  too  soon  to 
the  kirk,  made  her  bestir  herself  to  get  an  interest  awakened 
among  the  heritors  in  behalf  of  a  steeple. 

But  when  the  steeple  was  built,  a  new  contention  arose. 
It  was  thought  that  the  bell,  which  had  been  used  in  the 
ash-tree,  would  not  do  in  a  stone  and  lime  fabric,  so,  after 
great  agitation  among  the  heritors,  it  was  resolved  to  sell  the 
old  bell  to  a  foundry  in  Glasgow,  and  buy  a  new  bell  suitable 
to  the  steeple,  which  was  a  very  comely  fabric.  The  buying 
of  the  new  bell  led  to  other  considerations,  and  the  old  Lady 
Breadland,  being  at  the  time  in  a  decaying  condition,  and 
making  her  will,  she  left  a  mortification  to  the  parish,  as  I 
have  intimated,  to  get  a  clock,  so  that,  by  the  time  the  steeple 
was  finished,  and  the  bell  put  up,  the  Lady  Breadland's  legacy 
came  to  be  implemented,  according  to  the  ordination  of  the 
testatrix. 

Of  the  casualties  that  happened  in  this  year,  I  should  not 
forget  to  put  down,  as  a  thing  for  remembrance,  that  an  aged 
woman,  one  Nanse  Birrel,  a  distillator  of  herbs,  and  well 
skilled  in  the  healing  of  sores,  who  had  a  great  repute  among 
the  quarriers  and  colliers, — she  having  gone  to  the  physic  well 
in  the  sandy  hills  to  draw  water,  was  found  with  her  feet 
uppermost  in  the  well  by  some  of  the  bairns  of  Mr.  Lorimore's 
school ;  and  there  was  a  great  debate  whether  Nanse  had 
fallen  in  by  accident  head-foremost,  or,  in  a  temptation,  thrown 
herself  in  that  position,  with  her  feet  sticking  up  to  the  evil 
one  ;  for  Nanse  was  a  curious  discontented  blear-eyed  woman, 
and  it  was  only  with  great  ado  that  I  could  get  the  people 
keepit  from  calling  her  a  witchwife. 

I  should  likewise  place  on  record,  that  the  first  ass  that 
had  ever  been  seen  in  this  part  of  the  country  came  in  the 
course  of  this  year  with  a  gang  of  tinklers,  that  made  horn- 
spoons  and  mended  bellows.  Where  they  came  from  never 
was  well  made  out,  but  being  a  blackaviced  crew,  they  were 
generally  thought  to  be  Egyptians.  They  tarried  about  a 
week  among  us,  living  in  tents,  with  their  little  ones  squattling 
among  the  litter ;  aud  one  of  the  older  men  of  them  set  and 
tempered  to  me  two  razors,  that  were  as  good  as  nothing, 
but  which  he  made  better  than  when  they  were  new. 

Shortly  after,  but  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  it  was  in 

37 


I 


' 


•  Ofu  of  the  older  men  set  and  t«>fij>ered  to  me  two  razors.' 


ANNALS  OF  THE  TARISH 

the  end  of  this  year  or  the  beginning  of  th  *  next,  although  I 
have  a  notion  that  it  was  in  this,  there  came  over  from  Ireland 
a  troop  of  wild  Irihh,  seeking  for  work,  as  they  said,  hut  they 
made  free  quarter^,  for  they  herrit  the  roosts  of  the  clachan, 
and  cutted  the  throat  of  a  sow  of  ours,  the  carcase  of  which 
they  no  doubt  intended  to  steal,  but  something  came  over 
them,  and  it  was  found  lying  at  the  back-side  of  the  manse, 
to  the  grt  t  vexation  of  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  for  she  h.id  set  her 
mind  on  a  decking  of  pigs,  and  only  waited  for  the  China 
boar,  that  had  been  brought  down  from  London  by  Lord 
Eglesham,  to  mend  the  breed  of  pork — a  profitable  commodity 
that  her  father,  Mr  Kibbock,  cultivated  for  the  Glasgow  market. 
The  destruction  of  our  sow,  under  such  circumstances,  was 
therefore  held  to  be  a  great  crime  and  cruelty,  and  it  had  the 
effect  to  raise  up  such  a  spirit  in  the  clachan  that  the  Irish 
were  obligated  to  decamp  ;  and  they  set  out  for  Glasgow, 
where  one  of  them  was  afterwards  hanged  for  a  fact,  but  the 
truth  concerning  how  he  did  it,  I  cither  never  heard,  or  it  has 
passed  from  my  mind,  like  many  other  things  I  should  have 
carefully  treasured. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

Year   1767 


Lord  Eglesham  meets  with  an  accident,  which  is  the  means  of  getting  the 
parish  a  new  road — I  preach  for  the  benefit  of  Nanse  Banks,  the 
schoolmistress,  reduced  to  poverty. 

"  things  in  our  parish  were  now  beginning  to  shoot  up  into 
^  ^reat  prosperity.  The  spirit  of  farming  began  to  get  the 
upper  hand  of  the  spirit  of  smuggling,  and  the  coal-heughs 
that  had  been  opened  in  the  Douray  now  brought  a  pour  of 
money  among  us.  In  the  manse,  the  thrift  and  frugality  of 
the  second  Mrs.  Balwhidder  throve  exceedin^dy,  so  that  we 
could  save  the  whole  stipend  for  the  bank. 

The  king's  highway,  as  I  have  related  in  the  foregoing,  ran 
through  the  Vennel,  which  was  a  narrow  and  a  crooked  street, 
with  many  big  stones  here  and  there,  and  every  now  and  then, 

39 


I 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

both  in  the  spring  and  the  fall,  a  gathering  of  middens  for  the 
fields,  insomuch  that  the  coal  carts  from  the  Dowray  Moor 
were  often  reested  in  the  middle  of  the  causeway,  and  on  more 
th  n  one  occasion  some  of  them  laired  altogether  in  the 
middens,  and  others  of  them  broke  down.  Great  complaint 
was  made  by  the  carters  anent  these  difficulties,  and  there  was 
for  many  a  day  a  talk  and  sound  of  an  alteration  and  amend- 
ment, but  nothing  was  fulfilled  in  the  matter  till  the  month  of 
March  in  this  year,  when  the  Lord  Eglcsham  was  coming  from 
London  to  see  the  new  lands  that  he  had  bought  in  our 
parish.  His  lordship  was  a  man  of  a  genteel  spirit,  and  very 
fond  of  his  horses,  which  were  the  most  beautiful  creatures  of 
their  kind  that  had  been  sceu  in  all  the  country-side.  Coming, 
as  I  was  noting,  to  see  his  new  lands,  he  was  obliged  to  pass 
through  the  clachan  one  day,  when  all  the  middens  were 
gathered  out  reeking  and  sappy  in  the  middle  of  the  causeway. 
Just  as  his  lordship  was  driving  in  with  his  prancing  steeds 
like  a  Jehu  at  the  one  end  of  the  Vennel,  a  long  string  of 
loaded  coal  carts  came  in  at  the  other,  and  there  was  hardly 
room  for  my  lord  to  pass  them.  What  was  to  be  done  .''  his 
lordship  could  not  turn  back,  and  the  coal  carts  were  in  no 
less  perplexity.  Everybody  was  out  of  doors  to  see  and  to 
help,  when,  in  trying  to  get  his  lordship's  carriage  over  the 
top  of  a  midden,  the  horses  gave  a  sudden  loup,  and  couped 
the  coach,  and  threw  my  lord,  head-foremost,  into  the  very 
scent-bottle  of  the  whole  commodity,  which  made  him  go  per- 
fect mad,  and  he  swore  like  a  trooper,  that  he  would  get  an 
Act  of  Parliament  to  put  down  the  nuisance — the  which  now 
ripened  in  the  course  of  this  year  into  the  undertaking  of  vhe 
trust  road. 

His  lordship  being  in  a  woeful  plight,  left  the  carriage  and 
came  to  the  manse,  till  his  servant  went  to  the  castle  for  a 
change  for  him  ;  but  he  could  not  wait  nor  abide  himself,  so 
he  got  the  lend  of  my  best  suit  of  clothes,  and  was  wonderful 
jocose  both  with  Mrs.  Balwhidder  and  me,  for  he  was  a  portly 
man,  and  I  but  a  thin  body,  and  it  was  really  a  droll  curiosity 
to  see  his  lordship  clad  in  my  garments. 

Out  of  this  accident  grew  a  sort  of  a  neighbourliness 
between  that  Lord  Eglesham  and  me,  so  that  when  Andrew 
Lanshaw,  the  brother  that  was  of  the  first  Mrs.  Balwhidder, 
came  to  think  of  going  to  India,  I  wrote  to  my  lord  for  his 

40 


i 

1 


S^ 

'^A^ 

^^L' '   '^^v 

Kfl 

^^Mj^^^^L  luijj 

^ 

H^B 

^ 

^Hr 

l^^^^^n 

fKKM^u 

l^K^I^^N 

8h  ^^m    ■j^^''' 

sK^^ 

flOj^pr 

'  //  WM  a  dr 

oil  curiosity  to 

*^rf  Ait  lordship  clad  in  tny  gnmients.' 

I 


ANNALS  OF  THK  PARISH 


1^ 


behoof,  and  his  lordship  got  him  sent  out  as  a  cadet,  and  was 
extraordinary  chsrrcel  to  Anthcw  when  ho  went  up  to  London 
to  take  his  passaj^c,  speaking  to  hin:  of  me  as  if  I  had  hcen  a 
very  saint,  whii  h  the  Searcher  of  Hearts  knows  I  am  far  from 
thinking  luyself. 

Hut  to  return  to  the  makinf>  of  the  trust  road,  which,  as  I 
have  said,  turnoil  the  town  inside  out.  It  was  agreed  among 
the  heritors  that  it  slu)uld  run  along  the  l)ack  side  of  the  south 
houses  ;  and  tliat  there  should  he  steatlings  fewed  off  on  each 
side,  ac(  ording  to  a  plan  that  was  laid  down,  and  this  being 
gone  into,  the  town  gradually,  in  the  course  of  years,  g^ew  up 
into  'hat  orderliness  which  makes  it  now  a  pattern  to  the 
country-siile — all  vliich  was  mainly  owing  to  the  acident  that 
befell  the  Lord  Kglesliam,  which  is  a  clear  proof  how  improve- 
ments come  ;ibout,  as  it  were,  by  the  immediate  instigation  of 
Providence,  which  should  r.iake  the  heart  of  man  huuible, 
and  change  his  eyes  of  pride  and  haughtiness  into  a  lowly 
demeanour. 

lUit  althoui^h  this  makmg  of  the  trust  road  was  surely  a 
great  thing  for  the  parish,  and  of  an  advantage  to  my  people, 
\\c  met,  in  this  year,  with,  a  loss  no*  to  be  compensated, — that 
>vas  the  death  of  Nansc  Ranks,  the  schoolmistress.  She  had 
bjen  long  in  a  weak  and  frail  state,  but,  being  a  methodical 
creature,  still  kept  on  the  school,  laying  the  found  ition  for 
manv  a  worlhy  wife  and  mother.  However,  about  the  decline 
of  tne  year  her  complaints  increased,  and  she  sent  for  me  to 
consult  about  her  giving  up  the  school  ;  and  I  went  to  see  her 
on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  when  'he  bit  lassies,  her  scholars, 
had  put  the  house  in  order,  and  gone  home  till  the  Monday. 

She  was  sitting  in  the  window-nook  reading  THE  word  to 
herself,  when  I  entered,  but  she  closed  the  book,  and  put  her 
spectacles  in  for  a  mark  when  she  saw  me  ;  and,  as  it  was 
expected  I  would  come,  her  easy-chair,  with  a  clean  cover, 
had  been  set  out  for  me  by  the  scholars,  by  which  I  discerned 
(hat  there  was  something  more  than  common  to  happen,  and 
so  it  appeared  when  I  had  taken  my  seat. 

'  Sir,*  said  she,  '  I  hae  sent  for  you  on  a  thing  troubles  me 
sairly.  I  have  warsled  with  poortith  in  this  shed,  which  it 
has  pleased  the  Lord  to  allow  me  to  possess,  but  my  strength 
is  worn  out,  and  I  fear  I  maun  yield  in  the  strife '  ;  and  she 
wiped  her  eye  with  her  apron.     I  told  her,  however,  to  be  of 

42 


ANNAI.S  OF  TFrK  PARrSH 


^'ood  <  hcer  :  and  then  she  said,  Mhat  she  could  no  longer 
thole  the  din  of  the  s(  hool,  and  th.it  she  was  weary,  and  ready 
to  lay  herself  down  to  die  whenever  the  Lord  was  pleaserl  to 
permit.  Hut,'  continued  she,  'what  <  an  I  do  without  th«; 
school  ;  and  alas  !  I  fan  neither  work  nor  want  ;  and  I  am 
wae  to  ^o  on  the  Session,  for  1  am  <  omc  of  a  decent  fanuly.' 
I  comforted  h«;r,  and  toM  '.icr  that  I  thought  she  had  done  so 
mu(  h  good  in  the  parish  that  the  Session  was  deep  in  her 
debt,  and  tha  what  they  might  give  her  was  but  a  just  pay- 
ment for  her  ,crvi(  e.  '  I  would  rather,  however,  sir,' said  she, 
*  try  first  wh;.t  som('  of  my  auld  scholars  will  do,  and  it  was 
for  that  I  w';nted  to  speak  with  you.  If  some  of  them  wouUI 
but  just,  '"rom  lime  to  lime,  look  in  upon  me,  that  I  tnay  not 
die  alane  ;  and  the  little  pick  and  'Irap  that  I  rv.(\H\rv.  would 
not  be  hard  upon  them  -I  am  .n',rv  ^ure  that  in  this  way  their 
gratitude  would  he  no  discredit,  than  I  im  of  having  any  claim 
on  the  Session.' 

As  I  Iiad  always  a  great  respect  for  an  honest  pride,  I 
a''surcd  her  that  I  would  do  what  she  wanted,  and  accordingly, 
the  very  morning  after,  being  Sabbath,  I  preached  a  sermon 
on  the  helplessness  of  them  that  have  no  help  of  man,  meaning 
aged  single  women,  living  in  garret-rooms,  whose  forlorn  state, 
in  'he  gloaming  of  life,  f  made  manifest  to  the  hearts  and 
understandings  of  the  congregation,  in  such  a  manner  that 
many  shed  tears,  and  went  away  sorrowful. 

Having  thus  roused  the  feelings  of  my  people,  I  went 
round  the  houses  on  the  Monday  morning,  and  mentioned 
what  I  had  to  say  more  particularly  alxiut  poor  old  Nansc 
Panks  the  schoolmistress,  and  truly  I  was  rejoiced  at  the 
condition  of  the  hearts  of  m>  people.  There  was  -j.  universal 
sympathy  among  them  ;  and  it  was  soon  ordered  that,  what 
with  one  and  another,  her  decay  should  be  provided  for.  But 
it  was  not  ordained  that  she  should  be  long  heavy  on  their 
goodwill.  On  the  Monday  the  school  was  given  up,  and  there 
was  nothing  but  v/ailing  among  the  bit  lassies,  the  scholars, 
for  getting  the  vacance,  as  the  poor  things  said,  because  the 
mistress  was  going  to  lie  down  to  dee.  And,  indeed,  so  it 
came  to  pass,  for  she  took  to  her  bed  the  same  afternoon,  and, 
in  the  course  of  the  week,  dwindled  away,  and  slippet  out  of 
this  howling  wilderness  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  on  the 
Sabbath  following,   as  quietly  as  a  blessed   saint  could  do. 

4$ 


f '1 


iJ 


I 


m 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

And  here  I  should  mention,  lliat  the  Lady  Macadam,  when  I 
told  her  of  Nansc  Banks's  case,  inquired  if  she  was  a  snutTer, 
and  bemj;  answered  by  mc  that  she  was,  her  ladyship  sent  her 
a  pretty  Krcnch  enamel  box  full  of  ALicabaw,  a  fine  snuft'  that 
she  had  in  a  bottle  ;  and  anjon^^  the  Macabaw  was  found  a 
guinea,  at  the  bottom  of  the  box,  after  Nanse  Hanks  had 
tleparted  this  life,  which  was  a  kind  thing  of  Lady  Macadam 
to  do. 

About  the  dose  of  this  year  there  was  a  great  sough  of  old 
prophecies,  foretelling  mutations  and  adversities,  c  hielly  on 
a.coint  of  the  canal  that  was  spoken  of  to  join  the  rivers  of 
the  Clyde  and  the  Forth,  it  being  tlu)ught  an  impossible  thing 
to  be  done  ;  anil  the  Ailam  and  Kve  pear-tree  in  our  garden 
budiied  out  in  an  awful  manner,  and  had  ilixers  flourishes  on 
it  at  Vule,  which  was  thought  an  ominous  thing,  especially  as 
the  second  Mrs.  Halwhidder  was  at  the  c'own-lying  with  my 
eltlest  son  (Gilbert,  that  is  the  merchant  in  (ilasgow,  but 
nothing  came  o't,  and  the  howdie  said  she  had  an  easy  time 
when  the  child  came  into  the  world,  whii  h  was  on  tiie  very 
last  day  of  the  year,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  me,  and  of  my 
people,  who  were  wonderful  lifted  up  because  their  minister 
had  a  man-child  born  unto  him. 


ii 


CHAPTER    IX 

Vkar  176S 

Lord  Eglesham  uses  his  interi'st  in  favour  of  Cliarles  Malcolm — The  finding 
of  a  now  schooliiiistrfss — Miss  Sabrina  Hookie  gets  the  place — 
C"hange  of  fashions  in  the  parish. 

It's  a  surprising  thing  how  time  flieth  away,  carrying  ofT  our 
youth  and  strength,  and  leaving  us  nothing  but  wrinkles  and 
the  ails  of  old  age.  Gilbert,  my  son,  that  is  now  a  corpulent 
man,  and  a  Glasgow  merchant,  when  I  take  up  my  pen  to 
record  the  memorables  of  this  Ann.  Dom.,  seems  to  me  yet 
but  a  suckling  in  swaddling  clothes,  mewing  and  peevish  in 
the  arms  of  his  mother,  that  has  been  long  laid  ''  the  cold 
kirkyard,  beside  her  predecessor,  in  Abraham's  i;i<som.      It  is 

44 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

not,  however,  my  (lcsij,'n  to  speak  imirh  ancnt  my  own  affairs, 
which  would  bv  a  very  improper  and  uncomely  things  but  only 
of  what  happened  in  the  parish,  this  book  bein^  for  a  witness 
and  testimony  of  my  ministry.  Therefore,  settinj,'  out  of  view 
both  me  and  mine,  I  will  now  resus(  itatc  the  ( onrerns  of  Mrs. 
Malcolm  and  her  (  hildrrn  ;  for,  as  I  think,  never  was  there 
such  a  visible  j)reoniin;ition  seen  in  the  lives  of  any  persons,  as 
was  seen  in  that  of  this  worthy  decent  woman  and  her  well- 
doinj;  offsjirin^.  Her  morning  was  raw,  and  a  sore  blight  fell 
upon  her  fortunes,  but  the  sun  looked  out  on  her  mid-day,  and 
her  evening  c'osed  loun  and  warm,  and  the  stars  of  the 
firmament,  that  arc  the  eyes  of  Heaven,  beamed,  as  it  were, 
with  gladness  when  she  lay  down  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  rest. 

Her  son  Charles  was  by  this  time  grown  up  into  a  stout 
buirdly  lad,  and  it  was  expected  that  before  the  return  of  the 
Tohacco  trader,  he  would  have  been  out  of  his  time,  and  a 
man  afore  the  mast,  which  was  a  j^reat  step  of  preferment,  as 
I  heard  say  by  |)ersons  skilled  in  sea-faring  concerns.  Hut 
tiiia  was  :-!ot  ordered  to  hap|)en  ;  for,  when  the  Volxiao  trader 
was  lying  in  the  harbour  of  Virginia  in  the  North  America,  a 
pressgang,  that  was  in  need  of  men  for  a  man-of-war,  came  on 
board,  and  pressed  poor  Charlc: ,  and  sailed  away  with  him  on 
a  cruise,  nobody,  for  many  a  day,  could  tell  where,  till  1 
thought  of  the  Lord  ICglesham's  kindness.  His  lordship 
having  something  to  say  with  the  king's  government,  I  wrote 
to  him,  telling  him  who  I  was,  and  how  jocose  he  had  been 
when  buttoned  in  my  clothes,  that  he  might  recollect  me, 
thanking  him  at  the  same  time  for  his  condescension  and 
patronage  to  Andrew  Lanshaw,  in  his  way  to  the  East  Indies. 
I  then  slipped  in,  at  the  end  of  the  letter,  a  bit  noia  hctie 
concerning  the  case  of  Charles  Malcolm,  begging  his  lordship, 
on  account  of  the  poor  lad's  widow  mother,  to  inquire  at  the 
government  if  they  could  tell  us  anything  about  Charles.  In 
the  due  course  of  time,  I  got  a  most  civil  reply  from  his 
lordship,  stating  all  about  the  name  of  the  man-of-war,  and 
where  she  was  ;  and  at  the  conclusion  his  lordship  said,  that  I 
was  lucky  in  having  the  brother  of  a  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  on 
this  occasion  for  my  agent,  as  otherwise,  from  the  vagueness  of 
my  statement,  the  information  might  not  have  been  procured  ; 
which  remark  of  his  lordship  was  long  a  great  riddle  to  me,  for 
I  could  not  think  what  he  meant  about  an  agent,  till,  in  the 

45 


i 


' 


f 
I 

f  i 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

course  of  the  year,  we  heard  that  lis  own  brother  was 
concerned  in  the  Admiralty  ;  so  that  all  his  lordship  meant 
was  only  to  crack  a  joke  with  me,  and  that  he  was  ever  ready 
and  free  to  do,  as  shall  be  related  in  the  sequel,  for  he  was  an 
excellent  man. 

There  being  a  vacancy  for  a  schoolmistress,  it  was  pro- 
posed to  Mrs.  Malcolm,  that,  under  her  superintendence,  her 
daughter  Kate,  that  had  been  learning  great  artifices  in  needle- 
work so  long  with  Lady  Macadam,  should  take  up  the  school, 
and  the  Session  undertook  to  make  good  to  Kate  the  sum  of 
five  pounds  sterling  per  annum,  over  and  above  what  the 
scholars  were  to  pay.  But  Mrs.  Malcolm  said  she  had  not 
strength  herself  to  warsle  with  so  many  unruly  brats,  and  that 
Kate,  though  a  fine  lassie,  was  a  tempestuous  spirit,  and  might 
lame  some  of  the  bairns  in  her  passion  ;  and  that  self-same 
night,  Lady  Macadam  wrote  me  a  very  complaining  letter,  for 
trying  to  wile  away  her  companion  ;  but  her  ladyship  was  a 
canary-headed  woman,  and  given  to  flights  and  tantrums, 
having  in  her  youth  been  a  great  toast  among  the  quality.  It 
would,  however,  have  saved  her  from  a  sore  heart  had  she 
never  thought  of  keeping  Kate  Malcolm.  For  this  year  her 
only  son,  who  was  learning  the  art  of  war  at  an  academy  in 
France,  came  to  pay  her,  his  lady  mother,  a  visit.  He  was 
a  brisk  and  light-hearted  stripling,  and  Kate  Malcolm  was 
budding  into  a  very  rose  of  beauty ;  so  between  them  a 
hankering  began,  which,  for  a  season,  was  productive  of  great 
heaviness  of  heart  to  the  poor  old  cripple  lady  ;  indeed,  she 
assured  me  herself,  that  all  her  rheui  cs  were  nothing  to  the 
heartache  which  she  suffered  in  the  ^.^jress  of  this  business. 
But  that  will  be  more  treated  of  hereafter ;  suffice  it  to  say  for 
the  present,  that  we  have  thus  recorded  how  the  plan  for 
making  Kate  Malcolm  our  schoolmistress  came  to  nought.  It 
pleased  however  Him,  from  whom  cometh  every  good  and 
perfect  gift,  to  send  at  this  time  among  us  a  Miss  Sabrina 
Hookie,  the  daughter  of  old  Mr.  Hookie,  who  had  been 
schoolmaster  in  a  neighbouring  parish.  She  had  gone  after 
his  death  to  live  with  an  auntie  in  Glasgow,  that  kept  a  shop 
in  the  Gallowgate.  It  was  thought  that  the  old  woman  would 
have  left  her  heir  to  all  her  gatherings,  and  so  she  said  she 
would,  but  alas  !  our  life  is  but  within  our  lip.  Before  her 
testament   was    made,   she  was  carried   suddenly  off  by  an 

46 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


apopleciick,  an  awful  monument  of  the  uncertainty  of  time, 
and  the  nearness  of  eternity,  in  her  (»\vn  whop,  as  she  was  in 
the  very  act  of  weighing  out  an  <nu»ce  of  snuff  to  a  Professor 
of  the  College,  as  Miss  Sabrina  herself  told  me.  Being  thus 
destitute,  it  happened  that  Miss  Sabrina  heard  of  the  vacancy 
in  our  parish,  as  it  were,  just  by  the  ( ry  of  a  passing  bird,  for 
she  could  not  tell  how  ;  although  I  judge  myself  that  William 
Keckle  the  elder  had  a  hand  in  it,  as  he  was  at  the  time  in 
Glasgow ;  and  she  wrote  me  a  wonderful  well-penned  letter, 
bespeaking  the  situation,  which  letter  came  to  hand  on  the 
morn  following  Lady  Macadam's  stramash  to  me  about  Kate 
Malcolm,  and  I  laid  it  before  the  Session  the  same  day  ;  so 
that  by  the  time  her  auntie's  concern  was  taken  ofif  her  hands, 
she  had  a  home  and  a  howflf  among  us  to  come  to,  in  the 
which  she  lived  upwards  of  thirty  years  in  credit  and  respect, 
although  some  thought  she  had  not  the  art  of  her  predecessor, 
and  was  more  uppish  in  her  carriage  than  befitted  the  decorum 
of  her  vocation.  Hers,  however,  was  but  a  harmless  vanity  ; 
and,  poor  woman,  she  needed  all  manner  of  graces  to  set  her 
out,  for  she  was  made  up  of  odds  and  ends,  and  had  but  one 
good  eye,  the  other  being  blind,  and  just  like  a  blue  bead  ;  at 
first  she  plainly  set  her  cap  for  Mr.  Lorimore,  but  after  ogling 
and  gogling  at  him  every  Sunday  in  the  kirk  for  a  whole  half 
year  and  more,  Miss  Sabrina  desisted  in  despair. 

But  the  most  remarkable  thing  about  her  coming  into  the 
parish  was  the  change  that  took  place  in  Christian  names 
among  us.  Old  Mr.  Hookie,  her  father,  had,  from  the  time 
he  read  his  Virgil,  maintained  a  sort  of  intromission  with  the 
Nine  Muses,  by  which  he  was  led  to  baptize  h'ir  Sabrina,  after 
a  name  mentioned  by  John  Milton  in  one  of  his  works.  Miss 
Sabrina  began  by  calling  our  JennieSj  Jessies,  and  our 
Nannies,  Nancies ;  alas !  I  have  lived  to  see  even  these 
likewise  grow  old-fashioned.  She  had  also  a  taste  in  the 
mantua-making  line,  which  she  had  learnt  in  Glasgow,  and  I 
could  date  from  the  very  Sabbath  of  her  first  appearance  in 
the  kirk,  a  change  growing  in  the  garb  of  the  younger  lassies, 
who  from  that  day  began  to  lay  aside  the  silken  plaidie  over 
the  head,  the  which  had  been  the  pride  and  bravery  of  their 
grandmothers,  and  instead  of  the  snood,  that  was  so  snod  and 
simple,  they  hided  their  heads  in  round -cared  bees -cap 
mutches,  made  of  gauze  and  catgut,  and  other  curious  con- 

47 


J, 


8.  i! 


m 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

trivances  of  French  millendery ;  all  which  brought  a  deal  of 
custom  to  Miss  Sabrina,  over  and  above  the  incomings  and 
Candlemas  offerings  of  the  school ;  inso;  ich,  that  she  saved 
money,  and  in  the  course  of  three  years  h,  I  ten  pounds  to  put 
in  the  bank. 

At  the  time,  these  alterations  and  revolutions  in  the  parish 
were  thought  a  great  advantage  ;  but  now  when  I  look  back 
upon  them,  as  a  traveller  on  the  hill  over  the  road  he  has 
passed,  I  have  my  doubts.  For  with  wealth  come  wants,  like 
a  troop  of  clamorous  beggars  at  the  heels  of  a  generous  man, 
and  it's  hard  to  tell  wherein  the  benefit  of  improvement  in  a 
country  parish  consists,  especially  to  those  who  live  by  the 
sweat  of  their  brow.  But  it  is  not  for  me  to  make  reflections, 
my  task  and  duty  is  to  note  the  changes  of  time  and  habitudes. 


CHAPTER  X 

Year  1769 

A  toad  found  in  the  heart  of  a  stone—  Robert  Malcolm,  who  had  been  at 
sea,  returns  from  a  northern  voyage — Kate  Malcolm's  clandestine 
correspondence  with  Lady  Macadam's  son. 

I  HAVE  my  doubts  whether  it  was  in  the  beginning  of  this 
year,  or  in  the  end  of  the  last,  that  a  very  extraordinary  thing 
came  to  light  in  the  parish  ;  but  howsoever  that  may  be,  there 
is  nothing  more  certain  than  the  fact,  which  it  is  my  duty  to 
record.  I  have  mentioned  already  how  it  was  that  the  toil,  or 
trust  road,  was  set  agoing,  on  account  of  the  Lord  Eglesham's 
tumbling  on  the  midden  in  the  Vennel.  Well,  it  happened  to 
one  of  the  labouring  men,  in  breaking  the  stones  to  make 
metal  for  the  new  road,  that  he  broke  a  stone  that  was  both 
large  and  remarkable,  and  in  the  heart  of  it,  which  was  boss, 
there  was  found  a  living  creature,  that  jumped  out  the  moment 
it  saw  the  light  of  heaven,  to  the  great  terrification  of  the  man, 
who  could  think  it  was  nothing  but  an  evil  spirit  Hiat  had  been 
imprisoned  therein  for  a  time.  The  man  came  to  me  like  a 
demented  creature,  and  the  whole  clachan  gathered  out,  young 
and  old,  and  I  went  at  their  head,  to  see  what  the  miracle 
could  be,  for  the  man  said  it  was  a  fiery  dragon,  spuing  smoke 

48 


, 


i 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

and  flames.  But  when  we  came  to  the  spot,  it  was  just  a  yird 
toad,  and  the  laddie  weans  nevelled  it  to  death  with  stones, 
before  I  could  persuade  them  to  give  over.  Since  then  I  have 
read  of  such  things  coming  to  light  in  the  Scots  Magazine^  a 
very  valuable  book. 

Soon  after  the  affair  of  *  the  wee  dcil  in  the  stane,*  as  it  was 
called,  a  sough  reached  us  that  the  Americas  were  seized  with 
the  rebellious  spirit  of  the  ten  tribes,  and  were  snapping  their 
fingers  in  the  face  of  the  king's  government.  The  news  came 
on  a  Saturday  night,  for  we  had  no  newspapers  in  those  days, 
and  was  brought  by  Robin  Modiwort,  that  fetched  the  letters 
from  the  Irville  post.  Thomas  Fullarton  (he  has  been  dead 
many  a  day)  kept  the  grocery-shop  in  Irville,  and  he  had  been 
in  at  Glasgow,  as  was  his  yearly  custom,  to  settle  his  accounts, 
and  to  buy  a  hogshead  of  tobacco,  with  sugar  and  other 
spiceries  ;  and  being  in  Glasgow,  Thomas  was  told  by  the 
merchant  of  a  great  rise  in  tobacco,  that  had  happened  by 
reason  of  the  contumacity  of  the  plantations,  and  it  was  thought 
that  blood  would  be  spilt  before  things  were  ended,  for  that 
the  king  and  Parliament  were  in  a  great  passion  with  them. 
But  as  Charles  Malcolm,  in  the  king's  ship,  was  the  only  one 
belonging  to  the  parish  that  was  likely  to  be  art  and  part  in 
the  business,  we  were  in  a  manner  little  troubled  at  the  time 
with  this  first  gasp  of  the  monster  of  war,  who,  for  our  sins, 
was  ordained  to  swallow  up  and  devour  so  many  of  our  fellow- 
subjects,  before  he  v/as  bound  again  in  the  chains  of  mercy 
and  peace. 

I  had,  in  the  meantime,  written  a  letter  to  the  Lord  Egles- 
ham  to  get  Charles  Malcolm  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  press- 
gang  in  the  man-of-war ;  and  about  a  month  after,  his  lordship 
sent  me  an  answer,  wherein  was  inclosed  a  letter  from  the 
captain  of  the  ship,  saying,  that  Charles  Malcolm  was  so  good 
a  man,  that  he  was  reluctant  to  part  with  him,  and  that  Charles 
himself  was  well  contented  to  remain  aboard.  Anent  which, 
his  lordship  said  to  me,  that  he  had  written  back  to  the  captain 
to  make  a  midshipman  of  Charles,  and  that  he  would  take  him 
under  his  o\Wi  protection,  which  was  great  joy  on  two  accounts 
to  us  all,  especially  to  his  mother  ;  first,  to  hear  that  Charles 
was  a  good  man,  although  in  years  still  but  a  youth  ;  and 
secondly,  that  my  lord  had  of  his  own  free  will  taken  him 
under  the  wing  of  his  patronage. 

S  49 


j^i 


ii 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


But  the  sweet  of  this  world  is  never  to  be  enjoyed  without 
some  of  the  sour.  The  coal  bark  between  Irville  and  Belfast, 
in  which  Robert  Malcolm,  the  second  son  of  his  mother,  was 
serving  his  time  to  be  a  sailor,  got  a  charter,  as  it  was  called, 
to  go  with  to  Norway  for  deals,  which  grieved  Mrs.  Malcolm 
to  the  very  heart,  for  there  was  then  no  short  cut  by  the  canal, 
as  now  is,  between  the  rivers  of  the  Forth  and  Clyde,  but 
every  ship  was  obligated  to  go  far  away  round  by  the  Orkneys, 
which,  although  a  voyage  in  the  summer  not  overly  dangeious, 
there  being  long  days  and  short  nights  then,  yet  in  the  winter 
it  was  far  otherwise,  many  vessels  being  frozen  up  in  the  Baltic 
till  the  spring ;  and  there  was  a  story  told  at  the  time,  of  an 
Irville  bark  coming  home  in  the  dead  of  the  year,  that  lost  her 
way  altogether,  and  was  supposed  to  have  sailed  north  into 
utter  darkness,  for  she  was  never  more  heard  of;  and  many 
an  awful  thing  was  said  of  what  the  auld  mariners  about  the 
shore  thought  concerning  the  crew  of  that  misfortunate  vessel. 
However,  Mrs.  Malcolm  was  a  woman  of  great  faith,  and 
having  placed  her  reliance  on  Him  who  is  the  orphant's  stay 
and  widow's  trust,  she  resigned  her  bairn  into  his  hands,  with 
a  religious  submission  to  His  pleasure,  though  the  mother's 
tear  of  weak  human  nature  was  on  her  check  and  in  her  e'e. 
And  her  faith  was  well  rewarded,  for  the  vessel  brought  him 
safe  home,  and  he  had  seen  such  a  world  of  things,  that  it  was 
just  to  read  a  story-book  to  hear  him  tell  of  Elsineur  and 
Ciottenburgh,  and  other  fine  and  great  places  that  we  had 
never  heard  of  till  that  time  ;  and  he  brought  me  a  bottle  of 
Riga  balsam,  which  for  healing  cuts  was  just  miraculous, 
besides  a  clear  bottle  of  Rososolus  for  his  mother,  a  spirit 
which  for  cordiality  could  not  be  told  ;  for  though  since  that 
time  we  have  had  many  a  sort  of  Dantzick  cordial,  I  have 
never  tasted  any  to  compare  with  Robin  Malcolm's  Rososolus. 
The  Lady  Macadam,  who  had  a  knowledge  of  such  thmgs, 
declared  it  was  the  best  of  the  best  sort ;  for  Mrs.  Malcolm 
sent  her  ladyship  some  of  it  in  a  doctor's  bottle,  as  well  as  u 
Mrs.  Balwhidder,  who  was  then  at  the  down-lying  with  our 
daughter  Janet — a  woman  now  in  the  married  state,  that 
makes  a  most  excellent  wife,  having  been  brought  up  with 
great  pains,  and  well  educated,  as  I  shall  have  to  record 
by  and  by. 

About  the  Christmas  of  this  year.  Lady  Macadam's  son 

50 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


having  been  perfected  in  the  art  of  war  at  a  school  in  France, 
had,  wit'.i  the  help  of  his  mother's  fritiids,  and  his  father's 
fame,  got  a  stand  of  colours  in  the  Royal  Scots  regiment ;  he 
came  to  show  himself  in  his  regimentals  to  his  lady  mother, 
hke  a  dutiful  son,  as  he  certainly  was.  It  happened  that  he 
was  in  the  kirk  in  his  scarlets  and  gold,  on  the  same  Sunday 
that  Robert  Malcolm  came  home  from  the  long  voyage  to 
Norway  for  deals  ;  and  I  thought  when  I  saw  the  soldier  and 
the  sailor  from  the  pulpit,  that  it  was  an  omen  of  war  among 
our  harmless  country  folks,  like  swords  and  cannon  amidst 
ploughs  and  sickles,  coming  upon  us,  and  I  bc(  ame  laden  in 
spirit,  and  h.ad  a  most  weighty  prayer  upon  the  occasion, 
which  was  long  after  remembered,  many  thinking,  when  the 
American  war  bn)ke  out,  that  I  had  been  gifted  with  a 
glimmering  of  prophecy  on  that  day. 

It  was  during  this  visit  to  his  lady  mother,  that  young  Laird 
Macadam  settled  the  correspondence  w  ith  Kate  Malcolm, 
which,  in  the  process  of  time,  caused  us  all  so  much  trouble  ; 
for  it  was  a  clandestine  concern,  but  th*^  time  is  not  yet  ripe 
for  me  to  speak  of  it  more  at  large.  I  should  however  mention, 
before  concluding  this  annal,  that  Mrs.  Malcolm  herself  was 
this  winter  brought  to  death's  door  by  a  terrible  host  that  came 
on  her  in  the  kirk,  by  taking  a  kittling  in  her  throat.  It  was  a 
terrification  to  hear  her  sometimes  ;  but  she  got  the  better  of 
it  in  the  spring,  and  was  more  herself  thereafter  than  she  had 
been  for  yeais  before  ;  and  her  daughter  Effie,  or  Euphemia, 
as  she  was  called  by  Miss  Sabrina,  the  schoolmistress,  was 
growing  up  to  be  a  gleg  and  clever  quean  ;  she  was,  indeed, 
such  a  spirit  in  her  way,  that  the  folks  called  her  Spunkie  ; 
while  her  son  William,  that  was  the  youngest  of  the  five,  was 
making  a  wonderful  proficiency  with  Mr.  Lorimore.  He  was 
indeed  a  douce,  well-doing  laddie,  of  a  composed  nature; 
insomuch  that  the  master  said  he  was  surely  chosen  for  the 
ministry.  In  short,  the  more  I  think  on  what  befell  this  family, 
and  of  the  great  meekness  and  Christian  worth  of  the  parent, 
I  verily  believe  there  never  could  have  been  in  any  parish  such 
a  manifestation  of  the  truth,  that  they  who  put  their  trust  in 
the  Lord  are  sure  of  having  a  friend  thai  will  never  forsake 
them. 


i 


51 


i 


\ 


I 


'  Ht  came  to  sh/nv  himself  in  his  regimentals  to  his  mother.' 
Cefyrighf  1895  by  AtaemUlan  &  Co, 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER   XI 

Year   1770 

This  yar  a  happy  and  tranquil  one — Lord  Eglcsham  establishes  a  fair  in 
the  village — The  show  of  Punch  appears  for  the  first  time  in  the  parish. 

This  blessed  Ann.  Dom.  was  one  of  the  Sabbaths  of  my 
ministry ;  when  I  look  back  upon  it,  all  is  quiet  and  good 
order;  the  darkest  eloud  ot  the  smuggling  '  ad  passed  over, 
at  least  from  my  people,  fl  the  rumours  of  rebellion  in 
America  were  but  like  the  di-  ant  sound  of  the  bars  of  Ayr. 
We  sat,  as  it  were,  in  a  lown  and  pleas.i  it  place,  beholding 
our  prosperity,  like  thi  apple-tree  adorned  with  her  garlands 
of  flourishes,  in  the  first  fair  mornings  of  the  spring,  when 
the  birds  were  returning  thanks  to  their  Maker  <"  r  the  coming 
again  of  the  seed-time,  and  the  busy  bee  p;oeth  forth  from 
her  cell,  to  gather  honey  from  the  flowers  of  the  field,  and 
the  broom  of  the  hill,  and  the  blue-bells  and  gowans,  which 
Nature,  with  a  gracious  and  a  gentle  hand,  scatters  in  the 
valley,  as  she  walkrth  forth  in  her  beauty,  to  testify  to  the 
goodness  of  the  I-  ather  of  all  mercies. 

Both  It  the  spring  and  the  harvest  sacraments,  the  weather 
was  as  that  which  is  in  Paradise  ;  there  was  a  glad  composure 
in  all  hearts,  and  the  minds  of  men  were  softened  towards 
each  other.  The  number  of  communicants  was  greater  than 
had  been  known  for  many  years,  and  the  tables  were  filled 
by  the  pious  from  many  a  neighbouring  parish  ;  those  of  my 
hearcrb  who  had  opposed  my  placing  declared  openly  for  a 
testimony  of  satisfaction  and  holy  thankfulness,  that  the  tent, 
so  surrounded  as  it  was  on  both  occasions,  was  a  sight  they 
never  had  expected  to  see.  I  was,  to  be  sure,  assisted  by 
some  of  the  best  divines  then  in  the  land,  but  I  had  not 
been  a  sluggard  myself  in  the  vineyard. 

Often,  when  I  think  on  this  year,  so  fruitful  in  pleasant 
intimacies,  has  the  thought  come  into  my  mind,  that  as  the 
Lord  blesses  the  earth  from  time  to  time  with  a  harvest  of 
more  than  the  usual  increase,  so,  in  like  manner,  he  is  some- 
times for  a  season  pleased  to  pour  into  the  breasts  of  mankind 

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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSEC 

(716)  872-4503 


"^O 


C/u 


I   ! 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

a  larger  portion  of  goodwill  and  charity,  disposing  them  to 
love  one  another,  to  be  kindly  to  all  creatures,  and  filled  with 
the  delight,  of  thankfulness  to  himself,  which  is  the  greatest 
of  blessings. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  the  Earl  of  Eglesham  ordered  the 
fair  to  be  established  in  the  village ;  and  it  was  a  day  of 
wonderful  festivity  to  all  the  bairns,  and  lads  and  lassies, 
for  miles  round.  I  think,  indeed,  that  there  has  never  been 
such  a  fair  as  the  first  since  ;  for  although  we  have  more 
mountebanks  and  Merry- andrews  now,  and  richer  cargoes 
of  groceries  and  packman's  stands,  yet  there  has  been  a 
falling  off  in  the  light-hearted  daffing,  while  the  hobble-shows 
in  the  change-houses  have  been  awfully  augmented.  It  was 
on  this  occasion  that  Punch's  opera  was  first  seen  in  our 
country-side,  and  surely  never  was  there  such  a  funny  curiosity  ; 
for  although  Mr.  Punch  himself  was  but  a  timber  idol,  he 
was  as  droll  as  a  true  living  thing,  and  napped  with  his 
head  so  comical ;  but  oh  he  was  a  sorrowful  contumacious 
captain,  and  it  was  just  a  sport  to  see  how  he  rampaged, 
and  triumphed,  and  sang.  For  months  after,  the  laddie 
weans  did  nothing  but  squeak  and  sing  like  Punch.  In  short, 
a  blithe  spirit  was  among  us  throughout  this  year,  and  the 
briefness  of  the  chronicle  bears  witness  to  the  innocency  of 
the  time. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Year  1771 

The  nature  of  Lady  Macadam's  amusements — She  intercepts  letters  from 

her  son  to  Kate  Malcolm. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  my  troubles  with  Lady  Macadam's 
affair  began.  She  was  a  woman,  as  I  have  by  hint  here 
and  there  intimated,  of  a  prelatic  disposition,  seeking  all 
things  her  own  way,  and  not  overly  scrupulous  about  the 
means,  which  I  take  to  be  the  true  humour  of  prelacy.  She 
was  come  of  a  high  episcopal  race  in  the  east  country,  where 
sound  doctrine  had  been  long  but  little  heard,  and  she  con- 
sidered the  comely  humility  of  a  presbyter  as  the  wickedness 

54 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


of  hypocrisy ;  so  that,  saving  in  the  way  of  neighbourly 
visitation,  there  was  no  sincere  communion  between  us. 
Nevertheless,  with  all  her  vagaries,  she  had  the  element  of 
a  kindly  spirit,  that  would  sometimes  kythe  in  actions  of 
charity,  that  showed  symptoms  of  a  true  Christian  grace,  had 
it  been  properly  cultivated ;  but  her  morals  had  been  greatly 
neglected  in  her  youth,  and  she  would  waste  her  precious 
time  in  the  long  winter  nights,  playing  at  the  cards  with  her 
visitors ;  in  the  which  thriftless  and  sinful  pastime,  she  was 
at  great  pains  to  instruct  Kate  Malcolm,  which  I  was  grieved 
to  understand.  What,  however,  I  most  misliked  in  her  lady- 
ship was  a  lightness  and  juvenility  of  behaviour  altogether 
unbecoming  her  years,  for  she  was  far  past  threescore, 
having  been  long  married  without  children.  Her  son,  the 
soldier  officer,  came  so  late,  that  it  was  thought  she  would 
have  been  taken  up  as  an  evidence  in  the  Douglas  cause. 
She  was,  to  be  sure,  crippled  with  the  rheumatics,  and  no 
doubt  the  time  hung  heavy  on  her  hands ;  but  the  best  friends 
of  recreation  and  sport  must  allow,  that  an  old  woman,  sitting 
whole  hours  jingling  with  that  paralytic  chattel  a  spinet,  was 
not  a  natural  object !  What  then  could  be  said  for  her 
singing  Italian  songs,  and  getting  all  the  newest  from  Vaux- 
hall  in  London,  a  boxful  at  a  time,  with  new  novel-books, 
and  trinkum-trankum  flowers  and  feathers,  and  sweetmeats, 
sent  to  her  by  a  Ipdy  of  the  blood  royal  of  Paris  ?  As  for 
the  music,  she  was  at  great  pains  to  instruct  Kate,  which, 
with  the  other  things  she  taught,  were  sufficient,  as  my  lady 
said  herself,  to  qualify  poor  Kate  for  a  duchess  or  a  governess, 
in  either  of  which  capacities,  her  ladyship  assured  Mrs. 
Malcolm,  she  would  do  honour  to  her  instructor,  meaning 
her  own  self;  but  I  must  come  to  the  point  anent  the  affair. 

One  evening,  early  in  the  month  of  January,  as  I  was 
sitting  by  myself  in  my  closet  studying  the  Scofs  I  'agazine^ 
which  I  well  remember  the  new  number  had  come  but  that 
very  night,  Mrs.  Balwhidder  being  at  the  time  busy  with 
the  lasses  in  the  kitchen,  and  superintending,  as  her  custom 
was,  for  she  was  a  clever  woman,  a  great  wool-spinning  we 
then  had,  both  little  wheel  and  meikle  wheel,  for  stockings 
and  blankets — sitting,  as  I  was  saying,  in  the  study,  with 
the  fire  well  gathered  up,  for  a  night's  reflection,  a  prodigious 
knocking  came  to  the  door,  by  which  the  book  was  almost 

55 


iifi 


';ll 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


startled  out  of  my  hand,  and  all  the  wheels  in  the  house 
were  silenced  at  once.  This  was  her  ladyship's  flunkey,  to 
beg"  ine  to  go  to  her,  whom  he  described  as  in  a  state  of 
desperation.  Christianity  required  that  I  should  obey  the 
summons  ;  so,  with  what  haste  I  could,  thinking  that  perhaps, 
as  she  had  been  low-spirited  for  some  time  about  the  young 
laird's  going  to  the  Indies,  she  might  have  got  a  cast  of 
grace,  and  been  wakened  in  despair  to  the  sta:e  of  darkness 
in  which  she  had  so  long  lived,  I  made  as  few  steps  of  the 
road  between  the  manse  and  her  house  as  it  was  in  my 
ability  to  do. 

On  reaching  the  door,  I  found  a  great  light  in  the  house — 
candles  burning  upstairs  and  downstairs,  and  a  sough  of  some- 
thing extraordinar  going  on.  I  went  into  the  dining-room, 
where  her  ladyship  was  wont  to  sit ;  but  she  was  not  there — 
only  Kate  Malcolm  all  alone,  busily  picking  bits  of  paper  from 
the  carpet.  When  she  looked  up,  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
red  with  weeping,  and  I  was  alarmed,  and  said,  '  Katy,  my 
dear,  I  hope  there  is  no  danger?'  Upon  which  the  poor 
lassie  rose,  and  flinging  herself  in  a  chair,  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

'  What  is  the  old  fool  doing  with  the  wench  ? '  cried  a 
sharp  angry  voice  from  the  drawing-room — •  why  does  not  he 
come  to  me  ? '  It  was  the  voice  of  Lady  Macadam  herself, 
and  she  meant  me.  So  I  went  to  her ;  but,  oh,  she  was  in  a 
far  different  state  from  what  I  had  hoped.  The  pride  of  this 
world  had  got  the  upper  hand  of  her,  and  was  playing  dreadful 
antics  with  her  understanding.  There  was  she,  painted  like  a 
Jezebel,  with  gum-flowers  on  her  head,  as  was  her  custom 
evei-y  afternoon,  sitting  on  a  settee,  for  she  was  lame,  and  in 
her  hand  she  held  a  letter.  '  Sir,'  said  she,  as  I  came  into 
the  room,  '  I  want  you  to  go  instantly  to  that  young  fellcw, 
your  clerk  (meaning  Mr.  Lorimore,  the  schoolmaster,  who  was 
likewise  session-clerk  and  precentor),  and  tell  him  I  will  give 
him  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  to  marry  Miss  Malcolm 
without  delay,  and  undertake  to  procure  him  a  living  from 
some  of  my  friends.' 

'  Softly,  my  lady,  you  must  first  tell  me  the  meaning  of  all 
this  haste  of  kindness,'  said  I,  in  my  calm  methodical  manner. 
At  the  which  she  began  to  cry  and  sob  like  a  petted  bairn, 
and  to  bewail  her  ruin,  and  the  dishonour  of  her  family.     I 

56 


'  Covered  her/ace  ivith  her  hands^  and  wept  bitterly' 


".fi 


W   '  ! 


',11 


:  i'.  '  ■ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

was  surprised,  and  beginning  to  be  confounded,  at  length  out 
it  came.  The  flunkie  had  that  night  brought  two  London 
letters  from  the  Irville  post,  and  Kate  Malcolm  being  out  of 
the  way  when  he  came  home,  he  took  them  both  in  to  her 
ladyship  on  the  silver  server,  as  was  his  custom ;  and  her 
ladyship,  not  jealousing  that  Kate  could  have  a  correspondence 
with  London,  thought  both  the  letters  were  for  herself,  for 
they  were  franked,  so,  as  it  happened,  she  opened  the  one 
that  was  for  Kate,  and  this,  too,  from  the  young  laird,  her 
own  son.  She  could  not  believe  her  eyes  when  she  saw  the 
first  words  in  his  hand  of  write,  and  she  read,  and  she  better 
read,  till  she  read  all  the  letter,  by  which  she  came  to  know 
that  Kate  and  her  darling  were  trysted,  and  that  this  was  not 
the  first  love-letter  which  had  oassed  between  them.  She 
therefore  tore  it  in  pieces,  and  sent  for  me,  and  screamed 
for  Kate ;  in  short,  went,  as  it  were,  off  at  the  head,  and  was 
neither  to  bind  nor  to  hold  on  account  of  this  intrigue,  as  she 
in  her  wrath  stigmatised  the  innocent  gallanting  of  poor  Kate 
and  the  young  laird. 

I  listened  in  patience  to  all  she  had  to  say  anent  the 
discovery,  and  offered  her  the  very  best  advice ;  but  she 
derided  my  judgment,  and  because  I  would  not  speak  outright 
to  Mr.  Loriinore,  and  get  him  to  marry  Kate  off-hand,  she 
bade  me  good-night  with  an  air,  and  sent  for  him  herself 
He,  however,  was  on  the  brink  of  marriage  with  his  present 
worthy  helpmate,  and  declined  her  ladyship's  proposals,  which 
angered  her  still  more.  But  although  there  was  surely  a  great 
lack  of  discretion  in  all  this,  and  her  ladyship  was  entirely 
overcome  with  her  passion,  she  would  not  part  with  Kate, 
nor  allow  her  to  quit  the  house  with  me,  but  made  her  sup 
with  her  as  usual  that  night,  calling  her  sometimes  a  perfidious 
baggage,  and  at  other  times,  forgetting  her  delirium,  speaking 
to  her  as  kindly  as  ever.  At  night  Kate  as  usual  helped  her 
ladyship  into  her  bed  (this  she  told  me  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
next  morning),  and  when  Lady  Macadam,  as  was  her  wont, 
bent  to  kiss  her  for  good-night,  she  suddenly  recollected  '  the 
intrigue,'  and  gave  Kate  such  a  slap  on  the  side  of  the  head, 
as  quite  dislocated  for  a  time  the  intellects  of  the  poor  young 
lassie.  Next  morning  Kate  was  solemnly  advised  never  to 
write  again  to  the  laird,  while  the  lady  wrote  him  a  letter, 
which,  she  said, 'would  be  as  good  as  a  birch  to  the  breech  of 

58 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


the  boy.  Nothing^  theiefore,  for  some  time,  indeed  throughout 
the  year,  came  oi  this  matter,  but  her  ladyship,  when  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  soon  after  called  on  her,  said  that  I  was  a  nose  of 
wax,  and  that  she  never  would  speak  to  me  again,  which 
surely  was  not  a  polite  thing  to  say  to  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  my 
second  wife. 

This  stramash  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  interposed  in 
the  family  concerns  of  my  people,  for  it  was  against  my 
nature  to  make  or  meddle  with  private  actions,  saving  only 
such  as  in  course  of  nature  came  before  the  Session  ;  but  I 
was  not  satisfied  with  the  principles  of  Lady  Macadam,  and 
I  began  to  be  weary  about  Kate  Malcolm's  situation  with  her 
ladyship,  whose  ways  of  thinking  I  saw  were  not  to  be 
depended  on,  especially  in  those  things  wherein  her  pride 
and  vanity  were  concerned.  But  the  time  ran  on  —  the 
butterflies  and  the  blossoms  were  succeeded  by  the  leaves 
and  the  fruit,  and  nothing  of  a  particular  nature  further 
molested  the  general  tranquillity  of  this  year ;  about  the  end 
of  which  there  came  on  a  sudden  frost  after  a  tack  of  wet 
weather.  The  roads  were  just  a  sheet  of  ice,  like  a  frozen 
river  ;  insomuch,  that  the  coal-carts  could  not  work  ;  and  one 
of  our  cows  (Mrs.  Balwhidder  said,  after  the  accident,  it  was 
our  best,  but  it  was  not  so  much  thought  of  before)  fell  in 
coming  from  the  glebe  to  the  byre,  and  broke  its  two  hinder 
legs,  which  obligated  us  to  kill  it,  in  order  to  put  the  beast  out 
of  pain.  As  this  happened  after  we  had  salted  our  mart,  it 
occasioned  us  to  have  a  double  crop  of  puddings,  and  such 
a  show  of  hams  in  the  kitchen  as  was  a  marvel  to  our  visitors 
to  see. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Year  1772 

The  detection  of  Mr.  Heckletext's  guilt — He  threatens  to  prosecute  the 
elders  for  defamation — The  Muscovy  duck  gets  an  operation  per- 
formed on  it. 


On  New  Year's  night,  this  year,  a  thing  happened,  which,  in 
its  own  nature,  was  a  trifle,  but  it  turned  out  as  a  mustard-seed 

59 


( 


M 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

that  grows  into  a  great  tree.  One  of  the  elders,  who  has  long 
been  dead  and  gone,  came  to  the  manse  about  a  fact  that  was 
found  out  in  the  clachan,  and  c.fter  we  had  discoursed  on  it 
some  time,  he  rose  to  take  his  departure.  I  went  with  him 
to  the  door  with  the  candle  in  my  hand — it  was  a  clear  frosty 
night,  with  a  sharp  wind,  and  the  moment  I  opened  the  door, 
the  blast  blew  out  the  candle,  so  that  I  heedlessly,  with  the 
candlestick  in  my  hand,  walked  with  him  to  the  yett  without 
my  hat,  by  which  I  took  a  sore  cold  in  my  head,  that  brou;-ht 
on  a  dreadful  toothache ;  insomuch,  that  I  was  obligated  to  jo 
into  Irville  to  get  the  tooth  drawn,  and  this  caused  my  face  to 
swell  to  such  a  fright,  that  on  the  Sabbath  day  I  could  not 
preach  to  my  people.  There  was,  however,  at  that  time,  a 
young  man,  one  Mr.  Heckletext,  tutor  in  Sir  Hugh  Mont- 
gomerie's  family,  and  who  had  shortly  before  been  licenced. 
Finding  that  I  would  not  be  able  to  preach  myself,  I  sent  to 
him,  and  begged  he  would  officiate  for  me,  which  he  very 
pleasantly  consented  to  do,  being,  like  all  the  young  clergy, 
thirsting  to  show  his  light  to  the  world.  Twixt  the  fore 
and  afternoon's  worship,  he  took  his  check  of  dinner  at  the 
manse,  and  I  could  not  but  say  that  he  seemed  both  discreet 
and  sincere.  Judge,  however,  what  was  brewing,  when  the 
same  night  Mr,  Lorlmore  came  and  told  me,  that  Mr. 
Heckletext  was  the  suspected  person  anent  the  fact,  that 
had  been  instrumental  in  the  hand  of  a  chastising  Providence, 
to  afflict  me  with  the  toothache,  in  order,  as  it  afterwards 
came  to  pass,  to  bring  the  hidden  hypocrisy  of  the  ungodly 
preacher  to  light.  It  seems  that  the  donsie  lassie  who  was 
in  fault  had  gone  to  the  kirk  in  the  afternoon,  and  seeing  who 
was  in  the  pulpit,  where  she  expected  to  see  me,  was  seized 
with  the  hystericks,  and  taken  with  her  crying  on  the  spot,  the 
which  being  untimely,  proved  the  death  of  both  mother  and 
bairn  before  the  thing  was  properly  laid  to  the  father's  charge. 
This  caused  a  great  uproar  in  the  parish.  I  was  sorely 
blamed  to  let  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Heckletext  go  up  into  my 
pulpit,  although  I  was  as  ignorant  of  his  offences  as  the 
innocent  child  that  perished ;  and,  in  an  unguarded  hour,  to 
pacify  some  of  the  elders,  who  were  just  distracted  about  the 
disgrace,  I  consented  to  have  him  called  before  the  Session. 
He  obeyed  the  call,  and  in  a  manner  that  I  will  never  forget, 
for  he  was  a  sorrow  of  sin  and  audacity,  and  demanded  to 

60 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

know  why  and  for  what  reason  he  was  summoned.  I  told  him 
the  whole  afifair  in  my  calm  and  moderate  way,  but  it  was  oil 
cast  upon  a  burning  coal.  He  flamed  up  in  a  terrible  passion, 
threepit  at  the  elders  that  they  had  no  proof  whatever  of  his 
having  had  any  trafificking  in  the  business,  which  was  the  case, 
for  it  was  only  a  notion,  the  poor  deceased  lassie  never  having 
made  a  disclosure ;  called  them  libellous  conspirators  against 
his  character,  which  was  his  only  fortune,  and  concluded  by 
threatening  to  punish  them,  though  he  exempted  me  from  the 
injury  which  their  slanderous  insinuations  had  done  to  his 
prospects  in  life.  We  were  all  terrified,  and  allowed  him  to 
go  away  without  uttering  a  word  ;  and  sure  enough  he  did 
bring  a  plea  ..i  the  courts  of  Edinburgh  against  Mr.  Lorimore 
and  the  elders  for  damages,  laid  at  a  great  sum. 

What  might  have  been  the  consequence,  no  one  can  tell ; 
but  soon  after  he  married  Sir  Hugh's  housekeeper,  and  went 
with  her  into  Edinburgh,  where  he  took  up  a  school,  and 
before  the  trial  came  on — that  is  to  say,  within  three  months  of 
the  day  that  I  myself  married  them — Mrs.  Heckletext  vas 
delivered  of  a  thriving  lad  bairn,  which  would  have  been  a 
witness  for  the  elders,  had  the  worst  come  to  the  worst.  This 
was,  indeed,  we  all  thought,  a  joyous  deliverance  to  the  parish, 
and  it  was  a  lesson  to  me  never  to  allow  any  preacher  to 
mount  my  pulpit  unless  I  knew  something  of  his  moral 
character. 

In  other  respects,  this  year  passed  very  peaceably  in  the 
parish  ;  there  was  a  visible  increase  of  worldly  circumstances, 
and  the  hedges  which  had  been  planted  along  the  toll-road 
began  to  put  forth  their  branches,  and  to  give  new  notions  of 
orderliness  and  beauty  to  the  farmers.  Mrs.  Malcolm  heard 
from  time  to  time  from  her  son  Charles,  on  board  the  man-of- 
war  the  Avenger,  where  he  was  midshipman,  and  he  had  found 
a  friend  in  the  captain,  that  was  just  a  father  to  him.  Her 
second  son  Robert,  being  out  of  his  time  at  Irville,  went  to 
the  Clyde  to  look  for  a  berth,  and  was  hired  to  go  to  Jamaica, 
in  a  ship  called  the  Trooper.  He  was  a  lad  of  greater  sobriety 
of  nature  than  Charles  ;  douce,  honest,  and  faithful ;  and  when 
he  came  home,  though  he  brought  no  limes  to  me  to  make 
punch,  like  his  brother,  he  brought  a  Muscovy  duck  to  Lady 
Macadam,  who  had,  as  I  have  related,  in  a  m-^nner  educated 
his  sister  Kate.     That  duck  was  the  first  of  the  kind  we  had 

Oi 


i 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

ever  seen,  and  many  thought  it  was  of  the  goose  species,  only 
with  short  liowly  legs.  It  was  however,  a  tractable  and  homely 
beast,  and  after  some  confabulation,  as  my  lady  herself  told 
Mrs.  lialwhiddcr,  it  was  received  into  fellowship  by  her  other 
ducks  and  poultry.  It  is  not,  however,  so  much  on  account 
of  the  rarity  of  the  creature,  that  I  have  introduced  it  here,  as 
for  the  purpose  of  relating  a  wonderful  operation  that  was 
performed  on  it  by  Miss  Sabrina,  the  schoolmistress. 

There  happened  to  be  a  sack  of  beans  in  our  stable,  and 
Lady  Macadam's  hens  and  fowls,  which  were  not  overly  fed  at 
home,  through  the  inattention  of  her  servants,  being  great 
stravaggers  for  their  meat,  in  passing  the  door,  went  in  to 
pick,  and  the  Muscovy  seeing  a  hole  in  the  bean-sack,  dabbled 
out  a  crap-full  before  she  was  disturbed.  The  beans  swelled 
on  the  poor  bird's  stomach,  and  her  crap  bellied  out  like  the 
kyte  of  a  Glasgow  magistrate,  until  it  was  just  a  sight  to  be 
seen  with  its  head  back  on  its  shoulders.  The  bairns  of  the 
clachan  followed  it  up  and  down,  crying,  the  lady's  muckle 
jock's  aye  growing  bigger,  till  every  heart  was  wae  for  the 
creature.  Some  thought  it  was  afflicted  with  a  tympathy,  and 
others,  that  it  was  the  natural  way  for  such  like  ducks  to  deck 
their  young,  in  short,  we  were  all  concerned,  and  my  lady 
having  a  great  opinion  of  Miss  Sabrina's  skill,  had  a  consulta- 
tion with  he'-  on  the  case,  at  which  Miss  Sabrina  advised,  that 
what  she  called  the  Caesarian  operation  should  be  tried,  which 
she  herself  performed  accordingly,  by  opening  the  creature's 
crap,  and  taking  out  as  many  beans  as  filled  a  mutchkin  stoup, 
after  which  she  sewed  it  up,  and  the  Muscovy  went  its  way  to 
the  water-side,  and  began  to  swim,  and  was  as  jocund  as  ever  ; 
insomuch,  that  in  three  days  after  it  was  quite  cured  of  all  the 
consequences  of  its  surfeit. 

I  had  at  one  time  a  notion  to  send  an  account  of  this  to 
the  Scots  Magazine^  but  something  always  came  in  the  way 
to  preveni  me  ;  so  that  it  has  been  reserved  for  a  place  in 
this  chronicle,  being,  after  Mr.  Heckletext's  affair,  the  most 
memorable  thing  in  our  history  of  this  year. 


62 


ANNALS  OP  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Year  1773 


The  new  schoolhouse — Lord  Egleshani  comes  down  to  the  castle — I 
refuse  to  go  and  dine  there  on  Sunday,  but  go  on  Monday,  and  meet 
with  an  English  dean. 

In  this  Ann,  Dom.  there  was  something  like  a  plea  getting  to 
a  head,  between  the  Session  and  some  of  the  heritors,  about 
a  new  schoolhouse  ;  the  thatch  having  been  torn  from  the 
rigging  of  the  old  one  by  a  blast  of  wind,  on  the  first  Monday 
of  February,  by  which  a  great  snow-storm  got  admission,  and 
the  school  was  rendered  utterly  uninhabitable.  Tho  smaller 
sort  of  lairds  were  very  willing  to  come  into  the  plan  with  an 
extra  contribution,  because  they  respected  the  master,  and  their 
bairns  were  at  the  school ;  but  the  gentlemen  who  had  tutors 
in  their  own  bouses  were  not  so  manageable,  and  some  of 
them  even  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that  the  kirk  being  only 
wanted  on  Sunday,  would  do  very  well  for  a  school  all  the  rest 
of  the  week,  which  was  a  very  profane  way  of  speaking,  and  I 
was  resolved  to  set  myself  against  any  such  thing,  and  to 
labour  according  to  the  power  and  efficacy  of  my  station  to 
get  a  new  school  built. 

Many  a  meeting  the  Session  had  on  the  subject,  and  the 
heritors  debated  and  discussed,  and  revised  their  proceedings, 
and  still  no  money  for  the  needful  work  was  forthcoming. 
Whereupon  it  happened  one  morning,  as  I  was  ruminaging  in 
my  scrutoire,  that  I  laid  my  hand  on  the  Lord  Eglesham's 
letter  anent  Charles  Malcolm,  and  it  was  put  into  my  head  at 
that  moment,  that  if  I  was  to  write  his  lordship,  who  was  the 
greatest  heritor,  and  owned  now  the  major  part  of  the  parish, 
that  by  his  help  and  influence,  I  might  be  an  instrument  to  the 
building  of  a  comfortable  new  school ;  accordingly  I  sat  down 
and  wrote  my  lord  all  about  the  accident,  and  the  state  of  the 
schoolhouse,  and  the  divisions  and  seditions  among  the 
heritors,  and  sent  the  letter  to  him  at  London  by  the  post  the 
same  day,  without  saying  a  word  to  any  living  soul  on  the 


subject. 


III! 


-I 


:l 


■  M 


«3 


I 

I 

1 


I 


II  i 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

This  in  me  was  an  advised  thought,  for,  by  the  return  of 
post,  his  lordship,  with  his  own  hand,  in  a  most  kind  manner, 
authorised  me  to  say  that  he  would  build  a  new  school  at  his 
own  cost,  and  bade  me  go  over  and  consult  about  it  with  his 
steward,  at  the  castle,  to  whom  he  had  written  by  the  same 
post  the  necessary  instructions.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
gladness  which  the  news  gave  to  the  whole  parish,  and  none 
said  more  in  behalf  of  his  lordship's  bounty  and  liberality 
than  the  heritors  ;  especially  those  gentry  who  grudged  the 
undertaking,  when  it  was  thought  that  it  would  have  to  come 
out  of  their  own  pock-nook. 

In  the  course  of  the  summer,  just  as  the  roof  was  closing  in 
of  the  schoolhouse,  my  lord  came  to  the  castle  with  a  great 
company,  and  was  not  there  a  day  till  he  sent  for  me  to  come 
over  on  the  next  Sunday  to  dine  with  him  ;  but  I  sent  him 
word  that  I  could  not  do  so,  for  it  would  be  a  transgression  of 
the  Sabbath,  which  made  him  send  his  own  gentleman  to 
make  his  apology  for  having  taken  so  great  a  liberty  with  me, 
and  to  beg  me  to  come  on  the  Monday,  which  I  accordingly 
did,  and  nothing  cou'  •  be  better  than  the  discretion  with  which 
I  was  used.  There  was  a  vast  company  of  English  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  and  his  lordship,  in  a  most  jocose  manner,  told 
them  all  how  he  had  fallen  on  the  midden,  and  how  I  had  clad 
him  in  my  clothes,  and  there  was  a  wonder  of  laughing  and 
diversion  ;  but  the  most  particular  thing  in  the  company  was 
a  large  round-faced  man,  with  a  wig,  that  was  a  dignitary  in 
some  great  Episcopalian  church  in  London,  who  was  extra- 
ordinary condescending  towards  me,  drinking  wine  with  me  at 
the  table,  and  saying  weighty  sentences  in  a  fine  style  of 
language,  about  the  becoming  grace  of  simplicity  and  innocence 
of  heart,  in  the  clergy  of  all  denominations  of  Christians,  which 
I  was  pleased  to  hear ;  for  really  he  had  a  proud  red  counte- 
nance, and  I  could  not  have  thought  he  was  so  mortified  to 
humility  within,  had  I  not  heard  with  what  sincerity  he 
delivered  himself,  and  seen  how  much  reverence  and  attention 
was  paid  to  him  by  all  present,  particularly  by  my  lord's 
chaplain,  who  was  a  pious  and  pleasant  young  divine,  though 
educated  at  Oxford  for  the  Episcopalian  persuasion. 

One  day  soon  after,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  closet  conning 
a  sermon  for  the  next  Sunday,  I  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from 
the  dean,  as  the  dignitary  was  called.     He  had  come,  he  said, 

64 


ANNALS  OK  TIIIC  PARISH 

to  wait  on  me  as  rector  of  the  parish,  for  so  it  seems  they  rail 
a  pastor  in  England,  and  to  say,  that,  if  it  was  agreeable,  he 


^^m 


I 


<  i 


*  Extraordinary  condescending  totvanis  me.* 

would  take  a  family  dinner  with  us  before  he  left  the  castle. 
I  could  make  no  objection  to  this  kindness,  but  said   I  hoped 
my  lord  would  come  with  him,  and  that  we  would  do  our  best 
F  65 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

to  entertain  them  with  all  suitable  hospitality.  About  an  hour 
or  so  after  he  had  returned  to  the  castle,  one  of  the  flunkies 
brought  a  letter  from  his  lordship  to  say,  that  not  only  he 
would  come  with  the  dean,  but  that  they  would  bring  his 
other  guests  with  them,  and  that,  as  they  could  only  drink 
London  wine,  the  butler  would  send  me  a  hamper  in  the 
morning,  assured,  as  he  was  pleased  tr«  say,  that  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  would  otherwise  provide  good  cheer. 

This  notification,  however,  was  a  great  trouble  to  my  wife, 
who  was  only  used  to  manufacture  the  produce  of  our  glebe 
and  yard  to  a  profitable  purpose,  and  not  used  to  the  treat- 
ment of  deans  and  lords,  and  other  persons  of  quality.  How- 
ever, she  was  determined  to  stretch  a  point  on  this  occasion, 
and  we  had,  as  all  present  declared,  a  charmir»?  dinner ;  for 
fortunately  one  of  the  sows  had  ::  litter  of  pigs  a  few  days 
before,  and,  in  addition  to  a  goose,  that  is  but  a  boss  bird,  we 
had  a  roasted  pig,  with  an  apple  in  its  mouth,  which  was  just 
a  curiosity  to  see ;  and  my  lord  called  it  a  tythe  pig,  but  I 
told  him  it  was  one  of  Mrs.  Balwhidder's  own  decking,  which 
saying  of  mine  made  no  littie  sport  when  expounded  to  the 
dean. 

But,  och  how !  this  was  the  last  happy  summer  that  we 
had  for  many  a  year  in  the  parish ;  and  an  omen  of  the  dule 
that  ensued,  was  in  a  sacrilegious  theft  that  a  daft  wonian, 
Jenny  Gafiaw,  and  her  idiot  daughter,  did  in  the  kirk,  by 
tearing  off  and  stealing  the  green  serge  lining  of  my  lord's 
pew,  to  make,  as  they  said,  a  hap  for  their  shoulders  in  the 
cold  weather — saving,  however,  the  sin,  we  paid  no  attention 
at  the  time  to  the  mischief  and  tribulation  that  so  unheard-of 
a  trespass  boded  to  us  all.  It  took  place  about  Yule,  when 
the  weather  was  cold  and  frosty,  and  poor  Jenny  was  not  very 
able  to  go  about  seeking  her  meat  as  us^'al.  The  deed,  how- 
ever, was  mainly  done  by  her  daughter,  who,  when  brought 
before  me,  said,  'her  poor  mother's  back  had  mair  need  of 
rUes  than  the  kirk-boards,'  which  was  so  true  a  th'ng,  that  I 
could  not  punish  her,  but  wrote  anent  it  to  my  lord,  who  not 
only  overlooked  the  offence,  but  sent  orders  to  the  servants  at 
the  castle  to  be  kind  to  the  poor  woman,  and  the  natural,  her 
daughter. 


66 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


ir  1 


CHAPTER  XV 

Year  1774 


'1  \ 

■    '  .  '  ? 

*  (J  "i. 


TLe  murder  of  Jean  Glaikit — The  young  Laird  Macadam  comes  down 
and  marries  Kate  Malcolm — The  ceremony  performed  by  me,  and  I 
am  commissioned  to  break  the  matter  to  Lady  Macadam — Her 
behaviour. 


V 


When  I  look  back  on  this  year,  and  compare  what  happened 
therein  with  the  things  th?t  had  gone  before,  I  am  grieved  to 
the  heart,  and  preoied  down  with  an  afflicted  spirit.  We  had, 
as  may  be  read,  trials  and  tribulations  in  the  days  that  were 
past,  and  in  the  rank  and  boisterous  times  of  the  smuggling 
there  was  much  sin  and  blemish  among  us,  but  nothing  so 
dark  and  awful  as  what  fell  out  in  the  course  of  this  unhappy 
year.  The  evil  omen  of  daft  Jenny  Gaffaw,  and  her  dau;^hter'p 
sacrilege,  had  soon  a  bloody  verification. 

About  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  March  in  this  year, 
the  war  in  America  was  kindling  so  fast  that  the  government 
was  obligated  to  sent  soldiers  over  the  sea,  in  the  hope  to 
quell  the  rebellious  temper  of  the  plantations,  and  a  par^v  of 
a  regiment  that  v.'as  quartered  at  Ayr  was  ordered  to  marcn  to 
Greenock,  to  be  ihere  shipped  ofif.  The  men  were  wild  and 
wicked  profligates,  without  the  fear  of  the  Lord  before  their 
eyes,  and  some  of  them  had  drawn  up  with  light  women  in 
Ayr,  who  followed  them  on  their  march.  This  the  soldiers 
did  not  like,  not  wishing  to  be  troubled  with  such  gear  in 
America ;  so  the  women,  when  they  got  the  length  of 
Kilmarnock,  were  ordered  to  retreat,  and  go  home,  which 
they  all  did,  but  one  Jean  Glaikit,  who  persisted  in  her  intent 
to  follow  her  jo,  Patrick  O'Neil,  a  Catholic  Irish  corporal. 
The  man  did,  as  he  said,  all  in  his  capacity  to  persvade  her 
to  return,  but  she  was  a  contumacious  limmer,  and  would  not 
listen  to  reason,  so  that,  in  passing  along  our  toll-road,  from 
less  to  more,  the  miserable  wretches  fell  out,  and  fought,  and 
the  soldier  pvtt  an  end  to  her,  with  a  hasty  knock  on  the  head 
with  his  firelock,  and  marched  on  after  bis  comrades. 

The  body  of  thv*  woman  was,  about  half  an  hour  aft^r, 

67 


:i: 


ail  w 


EM 


m 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

found  by  the  scholars  of  Mr.  Lorimore's  schooi,  who  had  got 
the  play  to  see  the  marching,  and  to  hear  the  drums  of  the 


Cf^J^"^ 


'  The  murderer  was  brought  back  to  the  parish.' 
Copyright  1895  by  Mactnillan  &•  Co, 

soldiers.     Dreadful  was  the  shout  and  the  cry  throughout  the 
parish  at  this  foul  woi v     Some  of  the  farmer  lads  followed 

68 


ot 


^ 


F 


i/ 


the 
ved 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

the  soldiers  ^n  horseback,  and  others  ran  to  Sir  Hugh,  who 
was  a  justice  of  the  peace,  for  his  advice.  Such  a  day  as  that 
was  ! 

However,  the  murderer  was  taken,  and,  with  his  arms  tied 
behind  him  with  a  cord,  he  was  brought  back  io  the  parish, 
where  he  confessed  before  Sir  Hugh  the  deed,  and  how  it 
happened.  He  was  then  put  in  a  cart,  and  being  well 
guarded  Vy  six  of  the  lads,  was  taken  to  Ayr  jail. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  the  murderer  was  brought  to 
trial,  and,  being  found  guilty  on  his  own  confession,  he  was 
sentenced  to  be  executed,  and  his  body  to  be  hung  in  chains 
near  the  spot  where  the  deed  was  done.  I  thought  that  all 
in  the  parish  would  have  run  to  desperation  with  horror  when 
the  news  of  this  came,  and  I  wrote  immediately  to  the  Lord 
Eglesham  to  get  this  done  away  by  the  merciful  power  of  tLe 
government,  which  he  did  to  our  great  solace  and  relief. 

In  the  autumn,  the  young  Laird  Macadam,  being  ordered 
with  his  regiment  for  the  Americas,  got  leave  from  the  king  to 
come  and  see  his  lady-mother,  before  his  departure.  But  it 
was  not  to  see  her  only,  as  will  presently  appear. 

Knowing  how  much  her  ladyship  was  averse  to  the  notion 
he  had  of  Kate  Malcolm,  he  did  not  write  of  his  coming,  lest 
she  would  send  Kate  out  of  the  way,  but  came  in  upon  them 
at  a  late  hour,  as  they  were  wasting  their  precious  time,  as 
was  the  nightly  wont  of  my  lady,  with  a  pack  of  cards  ;  and 
so  far  was  she  from  being  pleased  to  see  him,  that  no  sooner 
did  she  behold  his  face,  but  like  a  tap  of  tow,  she  kindled 
upon  both  him  and  Kate,  and  ordered  them  out  of  her  sight 
and  house.  The  young  folk  had  discretion  :  Kate  went  home 
to  her  mother,  and  the  laird  came  to  the  manse,  and  begged 
us  to  take  him  in.  He  then  told  me  what  had  happened,  and 
that  having  bought  a  captain's  commission,  he  was  resolved 
to  marry  Kate,  and  hoped  I  would  perform  the  ceremony,  if 
her  mother  would  consent.  *  As  for  mine,'  said  he,  '  she  will 
never  agree  ;  but,  when  the  thing  is  done,  her  pardon  will  not 
be  difficult  to  get,  for,  with  all  her  whims  and  caprice,  she  is 
generous  and  affectionate.'  In  short,  he  so  wiled  and  beguiled 
me,  that  I  consented  to  marry  them,  if  Mrs.  Malcolm  was 
agreeable.  '  I  will  not  disobey  my  mother,'  said  he,  *  by  ask- 
ing her  consent,  which  I  know  she  will  refuse  ;  and,  therefore, 
the  sooner  it  is  done  the  better.'     So  we  then  stepped  over  to 

69 


1 


II 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


Mrs.  Malcolm's  house,  where  we  found  that  saintly  woman, 
with  Kate  and  Efifie,  and  Willie,  sitting  peacefully  at  their  fire- 
side, preparing  to  read  their  Bibles  for  the  night.  When  we 
went  in  and  when  I  saw  Kate,  that  was  so  ladylike  there  with 
the  decent  humility  of  her  parent's  dwelling,  I  could  not  but 
think  she  was  destined  for  a  better  station  ;  and  when  I  looked 
at  the  captain,  a  handsome  youth,  I  thought  surely  their 
marriage  is  made  in  Heaven  ;  and  so  I  said  to  Mrs.  Malcolm, 
who  after  a  time  consented,  and  likewise  agreed  that  her 
daughter  should  go  with  the  captain  to  America,  for  her  faith 
and  trust  in  the  goodness  of  Providence  was  great  and  bound  • 
less,  striving,  as  it  were,  to  be  even  with  its  tender  mercies. 
Accordingly,  the  captain's  man  was  sent  to  bid  the  chaise  wait 
that  had  taken  him  to  the  lady's,  and  the  marriage  was  sancti- 
fied by  me  before  we  left  Mrs.  Malcolm's.  No  doubt,  they 
ought  to  have  been  proclaimed  three  several  Sabbaths,  but  I 
satisfied  the  Session,  at  our  first  meeting,  on  account  of  the 
necessity  of  the  case.  The  young  couple  went  in  the  chaise 
travelling  to  Glasgow,  authorising  me  to  break  the  matter  to 
Lady  Macadam,  which  was  a  sore  task,  but  I  was  spared  from 
the  performance.  For  her  ladyship  had  come  to  herself,  and 
thinking  on  her  own  rashness  in  sending  away  Kate  and  the 
captain  in  the  way  she  had  done,  she  was  like  one  by  herself; 
all  the  servants  were  scattered  out  and  abroad  in  quest  of  the 
lovers,  and  some  of  them,  seeing  the  chaise  drive  from  Mrs. 
Malcolm's  door,  with  them  in  it,  and  me  coming  out,  jealoused 
what  had  been  done,  and  told  their  mistress  outright  of  the 
marriage,  which  was  to  her  like  a  clap  of  thunder ;  insomuch 
that  she  flung  herself  back  in  her  settee,  and  was  beating  and 
drumming  with  her  heels  on  the  floor,  like  a  madwoman  in 
Bedlam,  when  I  entered  the  room.  For  some  time  she  took 
no  notice  of  me,  but  continued  her  din  ;  but,  by  and  by,  she 
began  to  turn  her  eyes  in  fiery  glances  upon  me,  till  I  was 
terrified  lest  she  would  fly  at  me  with  her  claws  in  her  fury. 
At  last  she  stopped  all  at  once,  and,  in  a  calm  voice,  said, 
'  But  it  cannot  now  be  helped,  where  are  the  vagabonds  ? ' 
'  They  are  gone,'  replied  L  '  Gone  ? '  cried  she,  '  gone  where  ? ' 
'  To  America,  I  suppose,'  was  my  answer  ;  upon  which  she 
again  threw  herself  back  in  the  settee,  and  began  again  to 
drum  and  beat  with  her  feet  as  before.  But  not  to  dwell  on 
small  particularities,  let  it  suffice  to  say,  that  she   sent  her 

70 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

coachman  on  one  of  her  coach  horses,  which  being  old  and 
stiff,  did  not  overtake  the  fugitives  till  they  were  in  their  bed 
at  Kilmarnock,  where  they  stopped  that  night  ;  but  when  they 
came  back  to  the  lady's  in  the  morning,  she  was  as  cagey  and 
meikle  taken  up  with  them,  as  if  they  had  gotten  her  full  con- 
sent and  privilege  to  marry  from  the  first.  Thus  was  the  first 
of  Mrs.  Malcolm's  children  well  and  creditably  settled.  I  have 
only  now  to  conclude  with  observing  that  my  son  Gilbert  was 
seized  with  the  small-pox  about  the  beginning  of  December, 
and  was  blinded  by  them  for  seventeen  days  ;  for  the  inocula- 
tion was  not  in  practice  yet  among  us,  saving  only  in  the  genteel 
families,  that  went  into  Edinburgh  for  the  education  of  their 
children,  where  it  was  performed  by  the  faculty  there. 


If 


i 


CHAPTER   XVI 
Year  1775 

Captain  Macadam  provides  a  house  and  an  annuity  for  old  Mrs.  Malcolm 
— Miss  Betty  Wudrife  brings  from  Edinburgh  a  new-fashioned  silk 
mantle,  but  refuses  to  give  the  pattern  to  old  Lady  Macadam — Her 
revenge. 


The  regular  course  of  nature  is  calm  and  orderly,  and 
tempests  and  troubles  are  but  lapses  from  the  accustomed 
sobriety  with  which  Providence  works  out  the  destined  end  of 
all  things.  From  Yule  till  Pace-Monday  thee  had  been  a 
gradual  subsidence  of  our  personal  and  parochial  tribulations, 
and  the  spring,  though  late,  set  in  bright  and  beautiful,  and 
was  accompanied  with  the  spirit  of  contentment,  so  that, 
excepting  the  great  concern  that  we  all  began  to  take  in  the 
American  rebellion,  especially  on  account  of  Charles  Malcolm 
that  was  in  the  man-of-war,  and  of  Captain  Macadam  that  had 
married  Kate,  we  had  throughout  the  better  half  of  the  year 
but  little  molestation  of  any  sort.  I  should,  however,  note  the 
upshot  of  the  marriage. 

By  some  cause  that  I  do  not  recollect,  if  I  ever  had  it 
properly  told,  the  regiment  wherein  the  captain  had  bought 
his  commission  was  not  sent  to  the  plantations,  but  only  over 
to  Ireland,  by  which  the  captain  and  his  lady  were  allowed  to 

71 


m 


m 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


prolong  their  stay  in  the  parish  with  his  mother,  and  he, 
coming  of  age,  while  he  was  among  us,  in  making  a  settle- 
meiM  on  his  wife,  bought  the  house  at  the  braehead,  which  was 
then  just  built  by  Thomas  Shivers  the  mason,  and  he  gave 
that  house,  with  a  judicious  income,  to  Mrs.  Malcolm,  telling 
her  that  it  was  not  becoming,  he  having  it  in  his  power  to  do 
the  contrary,  that  she  should  any  longer  be  dependent  on  her 
own  industry.  For  this  the  young  man  got  a  name  like  a 
sweet  odour  in  all  the  country-side  ;  but  that  whimsical  and 
prelatic  lady  his  mother  just  went  out  of  all  bounds,  and 
played  such  pranks,  for  an  old  woman,  as  cannot  be  told.  To 
her  daughter-in-law,  however,  she  was  wonderful  kind  ;  and  in 
fitting  her  out  for  going  with  the  captain  to  Dublin,  it  was 
extraordinary  to  bear  what  a  paraphernalia  she  provided  her 
with.  But  who  could  have  thought  that  in  this  kindness  a 
sore  trial  was  brewing  for  me  ! 

It  happened  that  Miss  Betty  Wudrife,  the  daughter  of  an 
heritor,  had  been  on  a  visit  to  some  of  her  friends  in  Edin- 
burgh ;  and,  being  in  at  Edinburgh,  she  came  out  with  a  fine 
mantle,  decked  and  adorned  with  many  a  ribbon-knot,  such  as 
had  never  been  seen  in  the  parish.  The  Lady  Macadam,  hear- 
ing of  this  grand  mantle,  sent  to  beg  Miss  Betty  to  lend  it  to 
her.  to  make  a  copy  for  young  Mrs.  Macadam.  But  Miss 
Betty  was  so  vogie  with  her  gay  mantle,  that  she  sent  back 
word,  it  would  be  making  it  o'er  common  ;  which  so  nettlt'd 
the  old  courtly  lady,  that  she  vowed  revenge,  and  said  the 
mantle  would  not  be  long  seen  on  Miss  Betty.  Nobody  knew 
the  meaning  of  her  words  ;  but  she  sent  privately  for  Miss 
Sabrina,  the  schoolmistress,  who  was  aye  proud  cf  being  in- 
vited to  my  lady's,  where  she  went  on  the  Sabbath  night  to 
drink  tea,  and  read  Thomson's  Seasons  and  Hervey's  Medita- 
Uo7is  for  her  ladyship's  recreation.  Between  the  two,  a  secret 
plot  was  laid  against  Miss  Betty  and  her  Edinburgh  mantle  ; 
and  Miss  Sabrina,  in  a  very  treacherous  manner,  for  the  which 
I  afterwards  chided  her  severely,  went  to  Miss  Betty,  and  got 
a  sight  of  the  mantle,  and  how  it  was  made,  and  all  about  it, 
until  she  was  in  a  capacity  to  make  another  like  it ;  by  which 
my  lady  and  her,  from  old  silk  and  satin  negligees  which  her 
ladyship  had  worn  at  the  French  court,  made  up  two  mantles 
of  the  self-same  fashion  as  Miss  Betty's,  and,  if  possible,  more 
sumptuously  garnished,  but  in  a  flagrant  fool  war.     On  the 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


Sunday  morning  after,  her  ladyship  sent  for  Jenny  Gaffaw, 
and  her  daft  daughter  Meg,  and  showed  them  the  mantles, 
and  said  she  would  give  them  half-a-crown  if  they  would  go 
with  them  to  the  kirl:,  and  take  their  place  on  the  bench 
beside  the  elders,  and  after  worship,  walk  home  before  Miss 
Betty  Wudrife.  The  two  poor  natural  things  were  just  trans 
ported  with  the  sight  of  such  bravery,  and  needed  no  other 
bribe ;  so,  over  their  bits  of  ragged  duds,  they  put  on  the 
pageantry,  and  walked  away  to  the  kirk  like  peacocks,  and 
took  their  place  on  the  bench,  to  the  great  diversion  of  the 
whole  congregation. 

I  had  no  suspicion  of  this,  and  had  prepared  an  affecting 
discourse  about  the  horrors  of  war,  in  which  I  touched,  with  a 
tender  hand,  on  the  troubles  that  threatened  families  and 
kindred  in  America ;  but  all  the  time  I  was  preaching,  doing 
my  best,  and  expatiating  till  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes,  I 
could  not  divine  what  was  the  cause  of  the  inattention  of  my 
people.  But  the  two  vain  haverels  were  on  the  bench  under 
me,  and  I  could  not  see  them  ;  where  they  sat,  spreading 
their  feathers  and  picking  their  wings,  stroking  down  and 
setting  right  their  finery,  with  such  an  air  as  no  living  soul 
could  see  and  withstand  ;  while  every  eye  in  the  kirk  was 
now  on  them,  and  now  at  Miss  Betty  Wudrife,  who  was  in  a 
worse  situation  than  if  she  had  been  on  the  stool  of  re- 
pentance. 

Greatly  grieved  with  the  little  heed  that  was  paid  to  my 
discourse,  I  left  the  pulpit  with  a  heavy  heart ;  but  when  I 
came  out  into  the  kirkyard,  and  saw  the  two  antics  linking 
like  ladies,  and  aye  keeping  in  the  way  before  Miss  Betty,  and 
looking  back  and  around  in  their  pride  and  admiration,  with 
high  heads  and  a  wonderful  pomp,  I  was  really  overcome,  and 
could  not  keep  my  gravity,  but  laughed  loud  out  among  the 
graves,  and  in  the  face  of  all  my  people,  who,  seeing  how  I 
was  vanquished  in  that  unguarded  moment  by  my  enemy, 
made  a  universal  and  most  unreverent  breach  of  all  decorum, 
at  which  Miss  Betty,  who  had  been  the  cause  of  all,  ran 
into  the  first  open  door,  and  almost  fainted  away  with  mor- 
tification. 

This  affair  was  regarded  by  the  elders  as  a  sinful  trespass 
on  the  orderliness  that  was  needful  in  the  Lord's  house,  and 
they  called  on  me  at  the  manse  that  night,  and  said  it  would 

73 


m 

:  M 


^rf 


ii! 


-.4  4H  I 


Sf= 


ANNAIS  OF  THE  PARISH 


1 1 


I 


i 


be  a  guilty  connivance,  if  I  did  not  rebuke  and  admonish  Lady 
Macadam  of  the  evil  of  her  way  ;  for  they  had  questioned  daft 
Jenny,  and  had  got  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  plot  and  mis- 
chief. But  I,  who  knew  her  ladyship's  light  way,  would  fain 
have  had  the  elders  to  overlook  it,  rather  than  expose  myself 
to  her  tantrums ;  but  they  considered  the  thing  as  a  great 
scandal,  so  I  was  obligated  to  conform  to  their  wishes.  I 
might,  however,  have  as  well  stayed  at  home,  for  her  ladyship 
was  in  one  of  her  jocose  humours  when  I  went  to  ^peak  to  her 
on  the  subject ;  and  it  was  so  far  from  my  power  to  make  a 
proper  impression  on  her  of  the  enormity  that  had  been  com- 
mitted, that  she  made  me  laugh,  in  spite  of  my  reason,  at  the 
fantastical  drollery  of  her  malicious  prank  on  Miss  Betty 
Wudrife. 

It,  however,  did  r.ot  end  here ;  for  the  Session  knowing 
that  it  was  profitless  to  speak  to  the  daft  mother  and  daughter, 
who  had  been  the  instruments,  gave  orders  to  Willy  Howking, 
the  betheral,  not  to  let  them  again  so  far  into  the  kirk,  and 
Willy,  having  scarcely  more  sense  than  them  both,  thought 
proper  to  keep  them  out  next  Sunday  altogether.  They  twa 
said  nothing  at  the  time,  but  the  adversary  was  busy  with 
them  ;  for,  on  the  Wednesday  following,  there  being  a  meeting 
of  the  Synod  at  Ayr,  to  my  u  ter  amazement,  the  mother  and 
daughter  mad  i  their  appearance  there  in  all  their  finery,  and 
raised  a  complaint  against  me  and  the  Session,  for  debarring 
them  from  church  privileges.  No  stage  play  could  have 
produced  such  an  eflfect ;  I  was  perfectly  dumbfoundered,  and 
every  member  of  the  Synod  might  have  been  tied  with  a  straw, 
they  were  so  overcome  with  this  new  device  of  that  endless 
woman,  when  bent  on  provocation — the  Lady  Macadam  ;  in 
whom  the  saying  was  verified,  that  old  folk  are  twice  bairns, 
for  in  such  plays,  pranks,  and  projects,  she  was  as  play-rife  as 
a  very  lassie  at  her  sampler,  and  this  is  but  a  swatch  to  what 
lengths  she  would  go.  The  complaint  was  dismissed,  by  which 
the  Session  and  me  were  assoilzied ;  but  I'll  never  forget  till 
the  day  of  my  death  what  I  suffered  on  that  occasion,  to  be 
so  put  to  the  wall  by  two  bom  idiots. 


74 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER    XVII 


Year  1776 

A  recruiting  party  comes  to  Irville — Thomas  Wilson  and  some  others 
enlist — Charles  Malcolm's  return. 


It  belongs  to  the  chroniclers  of  the  realm,  to  describe  the 
damage  and  detriment  which  fell  on  the  power  and  prosperity 
of  the  kingdom,  by  reason  of  the  rebellion  that  was  fired  into 
open  war  against  the  name  and  authority  01  the  king  in  the 
plantations  of  America ;  for  my  task  is  to  describe  what 
happened  within  the  narrow  bound  of  the  pasturage  of  the 
Lord's  flock,  of  which,  in  His  bounty  and  mercy.  He  made 
me  the  humble,  willing,  but  alas !  the  weak  and  inefifectual 
shepherd. 

About  the  month  of  February,  a  recruiting  party  came  to 
our  neighbour  town  of  Irville,  to  beat  up  for  men  to  be  soldiers 
against  the  rebels  ;  and  thus  the  battle  was  brought,  as  it  were, 
to  our  gates,  for  the  very  first  man  that  took  on  with  them  was 
one  Thomas  Wilson,  a  cotter  in  our  clachan,  who,  up  to  that 
time,  had  been  a  decent  and  creditable  character.  He  was  at 
first  a  farmer  lad,  but  had  forgathered  with  a  doited  tawpy, 
whom  he  married,  and  had  offspring  three  or  four.  For  some 
time  it  was  noticed  that  he  had  a  down  and  thoughtful  look, 
that  his  deeding  was  growing  bare,  and  that  his  wife  kept  an 
untrig  house,  which,  it  was  feared  by  many,  was  the  cause  of 
Thomas  going  o'er  often  to  the  change-house ;  he  was,  in 
short,  during  the  greater  part  of  the  winter,  evidently  a  man 
foregone  in  the  pleasures  of  this  world,  which  made  all  that 
knew  him  compassionate  his  situation. 

No  doubt,  it  was  his  household  ills  that  burdened  him  past 
bearing,  and  made  him  go  into  Irville,  when  he  heard  of  the 
recruiting,  and  take  on  to  be  a  soldier.  Such  a  wally-wallying 
as  the  news  of  this  caused  at  every  door ;  for  the  redcoats, — 
from  the  persecuting  days,  when  the  black -cuffs  rampaged 
through  the  country, — soldiers  that  fought  for  hire,  were  held 
in  dread  and  as  a  horror  among  us,  and  terrible  were  the 
stories  that  were  told  of  their  cruelty  and  sinfulness ;  indeed, 

75 


v 


<!if 


M 


m:i 


a 


■M 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


there  had  not  been  wanting  in  our  own  time  a  sample  of  what 
they  were,  as  witness  the  murder  of  Jean  Glaikit  by  Patrick 
O'Neil,  the  Irish  corporal,  anent  which  I  have  treated  at  large 
in  the  memorables  '^f  the  year  1774. 

A  meeting  of  the  Session  was  forthwith  held ;  for  here 
was  Thomas  Wilson's  wife  and  all  his  weans,  an  awful  cess, 
thrown  upon  the  parish  ;  and  it  was  settled  outright  among 
us  that  Mr.  Docken,  who  was  then  an  elder,  but  is  since  dead, 
a  worthy  man,  with  a  soft  tongue  and  a  pleasing  manner, 
should  go  to  Irville,  and  get  Thomas,  if  possible,  released 
from  the  recruiters.  But  it  was  all  in  vain,  the  serjeant  would 
not  listen  to  him,  for  Thomas  was  a  strapping  lad ;  nor  would 
the  poor  infatuated  man  himself  agree  to  go  back,  but  cursed 
like  a  cadger,  and  swore  that  if  he  staid  any  longer  among 
his  plagues,  he  would  commit  some  rash  act;  so  we  were 
saddled  with  his  family,  which  was  the  first  taste  and  preeing 
of  what  war  is  when  it  comes  into  our  hearths,  and  among 
the  breadwinners. 

The  evil,  however,  did  not  stop  here.  Thomas,  when 
he  was  dressed  out  in  the  king's  clothes,  came  over  to  see 
his  bairns,  and  take  a  farewell  of  his  friends,  and  he  looked 
so  gallant,  that  the  very  next  market-day  another  lad  of  the 
parish  listed  with  him ;  but  he  was  a  ramplor,  roving  sort  of 
a  creature,  and,  upon  the  whole,  it  was  thought  he  did  well 
for  the  parish  when  he  went  to  serve  the  king. 

The  listing  was  a  catching  distemper.  Before  the  summer 
was  over,  other  three  of  the  farming  lads  went  off  with  the 
drum,  and  there  was  a  wailing  in  the  parish,  which  made 
me  preach  a  touching  discourse.  I  likened  the  parish  to  a 
widow  woman  with  a  small  family,  sitting  in  their  cottage 
by  the  fireside,  herself  spinning  with  an  eydent  wheel,  ettling 
her  best  to  get  them  a  bit  and  a  brat,  and  the  poor  weans 
all  canty  about  the  hearthstane  —  the  little  ones  at  their 
playocks,  and  the  elder  at  their  tasks — the  callans  working 
with  hooks  and  lines  to  catch  them  a  meal  of  fish  in  the 
morning — and  the  lassies  working  stockings  to  sell  at  the 
next  Marymas  fair.  And  then  I  likened  war  to  a  calamity 
-/ming  among  them — the  callans  drowned  at  their  fishing — 
the  lassies  led  to  a  misdoing — and  the  feckless  wee  bairns 
laid  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  and  their  poor  forlorn  mother 
sitting  by  herself  at  the  embers  of  a  cauldrife  fire ;  her  tow 

76 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

done,  and  r.o  a  bodlc  to  buy  more  ;  dropping  a  silent  and 
salt  tear  for  her  babies,  and  thinking  of  days  that  war  gone, 
and,  like  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  she  would  not  be 
comforted.  With  this  I  concluded,  for  my  own  heart  filled 
full  with  the  thought,  and  there  was  a  deep  scb  in  the 
church,  verily,  it  was  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children. 

In  the  latter  end  of  the  year,  the  man-of-war,  with  Charles 
Malcolm  in  her,  came  to  the  Tail  of  the  Bank  at  dreenock, 
to  press  men  as  it  was  thought,  and  Charles  got  leave  from 
his  captain  to  come  and  see  his  mother ;  and  he  brought 
with  him  Mr.  Howard,  another  midshipman,  the  son  of  a 
great  Parliament  man  in  London,  which,  as  we  had  tasted 
the  sorrow,  gave  us  some  insight  into  the  pomp  of  war. 
Charles  was  now  grown  up  into  a  fine  young  man,  rattling, 
light-hearted,  and  just  a  cordial  of  gladness,  and  his  companion 
was  every  bit  like  him.  They  were  dressed  in  their  fine 
gold-laced  garbs,  and  nobody  knew  Charles  when  he  came 
to  the  clachan,  but  all  wondered,  for  they  were  on  horseback, 
and  rode  to  the  house  where  his  mother  lived  when  he  went 
away,  but  which  was  then  occupied  by  Miss  Sabrina  and 
her  school.  Miss  Sabrina  had  never  seen  Charles,  but  she 
had  heard  of  him,  and  when  he  inquired  for  his  mother,  she 
guessed  who  he  was,  and  showed  him  the  way  to  the  new 
house  that  the  captain  had  bought  for  her. 

Miss  Sabrina,  who  was  a  little  overly  perjink  at  times, 
behaved  herself  on  this  occasion  with  a  true  spirit,  and  gave 
her  lassies  the  play  immediately,  so  that  the  news  of  Charles's 
return  was  spread  by  them  like  wild-fire,  and  there  was  a 
wonderful  joy  in  the  who'e  town.  When  Charles  had  seen 
his  mother,  and  his  sistei  Eflfie,  \/ith  that  douce  and  well- 
mannered  lad  Will'am,  his  brother,  for  of  their  meeting  I 
cannot  speak,  not  being  present,  he  then  came  with  his 
friend  to  see  me  at  the  manse,  and  was  most  jocose  with 
me,  and  in  a  way  of  great  pleasance,  got  Mrs.  Balwhidder 
to  ask  his  friend  to  sleep  at  the  manse.  In  short,  we  had 
just  a  ploy  the  whole  two  days  they  staid  with  us,  and  I 
got  leave  from  Lord  Eglesham's  steward  to  let  them  shoot 
on  my  lord's  land,  and  I  believe  every  laddie  wean  in  the 
parish  attended  them  to  the  field.  As  for  old  Lady  Macadam, 
Charles  being,  as  she  said,  a  near  relation,  and  she  having 
likewise  some  knowledge  of  his  comrade's  family,   she  was 

77 


^h 


'MM 


,:<f, 


41; 


m 


.1 


'  Miss  Sabrina  showed  him  the  way. ' 
Cofyrishl  1895  by  Afacmillan  &•  Co. 


AKNALS  OF  THF  PARISH 


just  in  her  clement  with  them,  thoirgh  they  were  but  youths, 
for  she  was  a  woman  naturally  ot  a  fantastical,  and,  as  I 
have  narrated,  f,Mven  to  comical  devices  and  pranks  to  a 
degree.  She  made  for  them  a  ball,  to  which  she  invited  all 
the  bonniest  lassies,  far  and  near,  in  the  parish,  and  was  out 
of  the  body  with  mirth,  and  had  a  fiddler  from  Irville  ;  and 
it  was  thought  by  those  that  were  there,  that  had  she  not 
been  crippled  with  the  rheumatics,  she  would  have  danced 
herself.  Hut  I  was  concerned  to  hear  both  Charles  and  his 
friend,  like  hungry  hawks,  rejoicing  at  the  prospect  of  the 
war,  hoping  thereby,  as  soon  as  their  midship  term  was  out, 
to  be  made  lieutenants  ;  saving  this,  there  was  no  allay  in 
the  happiness  they  brought  with  them  to  the  parish,  and  it 
was  a  delight  to  sec  how  auld  and  young  of  all  degrees  made 
of  Charles,  for  we  were  proud  of  him,  and  none  more  than 
myself,  though  he  began  to  take  liberties  with  me,  calling 
me  old  governor  ;  it  was,  however,  in  a  warm-hearted  manner, 
only  I  did  not  like  it  when  any  of  the  elders  heard.  As  for 
his  mother,  she  deported  herself  like  a  saint  on  the  occasion. 
There  was  a  temperance  in  the  pleasure  of  her  heart,  and  in 
her  thankfulness,  that  is  past  the  compass  of  words  to  describe. 
Even  Lady  Macadam,  who  never  could  think  a  serious  thought 
all  her  days,  said,  in  her  wild  way,  that  the  gods  had  bestowed 
more  care  in  the  making  of  Mrs.  Malcolm's  temper,  than  on 
the  bodies  and  souls  of  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar.  On 
the  Sunday  the  strangers  attended  divine  worship,  and  I 
preached  a  sermon  purposely  for  them,  and  enlarged  at  great 
length  and  fulness  on  how  David  overcame  Goliah  ;  and  they 
both  told  me  that  they  had  never  heard  such  a  good  discourse, 
but  I  do  not  think  they  were  great  judges  of  preachings. 
How,  indeed,  could  Mr.  Howard  know  anything  of  sound 
doctrine,  being  educated,  as  he  told  me,  at  Eton  school,  a 
prelatic  establishment.  Nevertheless,  he  was  a  fine  lad,  and 
though  a  little  given  to  frolic  and  diversion,  he  had  a  principle 
of  integrity,  that  afterwards  kithed  into  much  virtue ;  for, 
during  this  visit,  he  took  a  notion  of  Effie  Malcolm,  and  the 
lassie  of  him,  then  a  sprightly  and  blooming  creature,  fair  to 
look  upon,  and  blithe  to  see  ;  and  he  kept  up  a  correspondence 
with  her  till  the  war  was  over,  when,  being  a  captain  of  a 
frigate,  he  came  down  among  us,  and  they  were  married  by 
me,  as  shall  be  related  in  its  proper  place. 

79 


f: 


'It 


nm 


I 
iii 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

Year  1777 

Old  Widow  Mirkland — Bloody  accounts  of  the  war — He  gets 
a  newspaper — Great  flood. 

This  may  well  be  called  the  year  of  the  heavy  heart,  for  we 
had  sad  tidings  of  the  lads  that  went  away  as  soldiers  to 
\merica.  First,  there  was  a  boding  in  the  minds  of  all  their 
friends  that  they  were  never  to  see  them  more,  and  their 
sadness,  like  a  mist  spreading  from  the  waters  and  covering 
the  fields,  darkened  the  spirit  of  the  neighbours.  Secondly,  a 
sound  was  bruited  about,  that  the  king's  forces  would  have  a 
hot  and  a  sore  struggle  before  the  rebels  were  put  down,  if 
they  were  ever  put  down.  Then  came  the  cruel  truth  of  all 
that  the  poor  lads'  friends  had  feared ;  but  it  is  fit  and  proper 
that  I  should  relate  at  length,  under  their  several  heads,  the 
sorrows  and  afflictions  as  they  came  to  pass. 

One  evening,  as  I  was  taking  my  walk  alone,  meditating 
my  discourse  for  the  next  Sabbath — it  was  shortly  after 
Candlemas — it  was  a  fine  clear  frosty  evening,  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting.  Taking  my  walk  alone,  and  thinking  of  the 
dreadfulness  of  Almighty  Power,  and  how  that  if  it  was  not 
tempered  and  restrained  by  infinite  goodness,  and  wisdom, 
and  mercy,  the  miserable  sinner  man,  and  all  things  that  live, 
would  be  in  a  woeful  state,  I  drew  near  the  beild  where  old 
Widow  Mirkland  lived  by  herself,  who  was  grandmother  to 
Jock  Hempy,  the  ramplor  lad  that  was  the  second  who  took 
on  for  a  soldier.  I  did  not  mind  of  this  at  the  time,  but 
passing  the  house,  I  heard  the  croon,  as  it  were,  of  a  laden 
soul,  busy  with  the  Lord,  and,  not  to  disturb  the  holy  workings 
of  grace,  I  paused,  and  listened.  It  was  old  Mizy  Mirkland 
herself,  sitting  at  the  gable  of  the  house,  looking  at  the  sun 
setting  in  all  his  glory  behind  the  Arran  hills  ;  but  she  was 
not  praying-  -only  moaning  to  herself, — an  oozing  out,  as  it 
might  be  called,  of  the  spirit  from  her  heart,  then  grievously 
oppressed  with  sorrow,  and  heavy  bodements  of  grey  hairs 
and  poverty.     *  Yonder  it  slips  awa','  she  was  saying,  '  and  my 

80 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


'■•» 


poor  bairn,  that's  o'er  the  seas  in  America,  is  maybe  looking 
on  its  bright  face,  thinking  of  his  hame,  and  aiblins  of  me, 
that  did  my  best  to  breed  him  up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  ;  but 
I  couldna  warsle  vvi'  what  was  ordained.  Ay,  Jock  !  as  ye 
look  at  the  sun  gaun  down,  as  many  a  time,  when  ye  were  a 
wee  innocent  laddie  at  my  knee  here,  I  hae  bade  ye  look  at 
him  as  a  type  of  your  Maker,  you  will  hae  a  sore  heart ;  for 
ye  hae  left  me  in  my  need,  when  ye  should  hae  been  near  at 
hand  to  help  me,  for  the  hard  labour  and  industry  with  which 
I  brought  you  up.  But  it's  the  Lord's  will, — blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord,  that  makes  us  to  thole  the  tribulations  of 
this  world,  and  will  reward  us,  through  the  mediation  of  Jesus, 
hereafter.'  She  wept  bitterly  as  she  said  this,  for  her  heart 
was  tried,  but  the  blessing  of  a  religious  contentment  was  shed 
upon  her ;  and  I  stepped  up  to  her,  and  asked  about  her 
concerns,  for,  savinjj  as  a  parishioner,  and  a  decent  old 
woman,  I  knew  little  of  her.  Brief  was  her  story,  but  it  was 
one  of  misfortune.  '  But  I  will  not  complain,'  she  said,  '  of 
the  measure  that  has  been  meted  unto  me.  I  was  left  myself 
an  orphan ;  when  I  grew  up,  and  was  married  to  my  gudeman, 
I  had  known  but  scant  and  want.  Our  days  of  felicity  were 
few,  and  he  was  ta'en  awa'  from  me  shortly  after  my  Mary 
was  born — a  wailing  baby,  and  a  widow's  heart,  was  a'  he  left 
me.  I  nursed  her  with  my  salt  tears,  and  bred  her  in  straits, 
but  the  favour  of  God  was  with  us,  and  she  grew  up  to 
womanhood,  as  lovely  as  the  rose,  and  as  blameless  as  the 
lily.  In  her  time  she  was  married  to  a  farming  lad  ;  there 
never  was  a  brawer  pair  in  the  kirk,  than  on  that  day  when 
they  gaed  there  first  as  man  and  wife.  My  heart  was  proud, 
and  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  chastise  my  pride — to  nip  my 
happiness  even  in  the  bud.  The  very  next  day  he  got  his 
arm  crushed.  It  never  got  well  again,  and  he  fell  into  a 
decay,  and  died  in  the  winter,  leaving  my  Mary  far  on  in  the 
road  to  be  a  mother. 

'When  her  time  drew  near,  we  both  happened  to  be 
working  in  the  yard.  She  was  delving  to  plant  potatoes,  and 
I  told  her  it  would  do  her  hurt,  but  she  was  eager  to  provide 
something,  as  she  said,  for  what  might  happen.  Oh,  it  was  an 
ill-omened  word.  The  same  night  her  trouble  came  on,  and 
bv-ibre  the  morning  she  was  a  cauld  corpse,  and  another  wee 
wee  fatherless  baby  was  greeting  at  my  bosom.  It  was  him 
G  8i 


:';tl, 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


that's  noo  awa'  in  America.  He  grew  up  to  be  a  fine  bairn, 
with  a  warm  heart,  but  a  hg'it  head,  and,  wanting  the  rein  of 
a  father's  power  upon  him,  was  no  sae  douce  as  I  could  have 
wished  ;  but  he  was  no  man's  foe  save  his  own.  I  thought, 
and  hoped,  as  he  grew  to  years  of  discretion,  he  would  have 
sobered,  and  been  a  consolation  to  my  old  age ;  but  he's  gone, 
and  he'll  never  come  back — disappointment  is  my  portion  in 
this  world,  and  I  have  no  hope  ;  while  I  can  do,  I  will  seek 
no  help,  but  threescore  and  fifteen  can  do  little,  and  a  small 
ail  is  a  great  evil  to  an  aged  woman  who  has  but  the  distaff 
for  her  breadwinner.' 

I  did  all  that  I  could  to  bid  her  be  of  good  cheer,  but  the 
comfort  of  a  hopeful  spirit  was  dead  within  her ;  and  she  told 
me,  that  by  many  tokens  she  was  assured  her  bairn  was 
already  slain.  '  Thrice,'  said  she,  '  I  have  seen  his  wraith. 
The  first  time  he  was  in  the  pride  of  his  young  m.anhood,  the 
next  he  was  pale  and  wan,  with  a  bloody  and  a  gashy  wound 
in  his  side,  and  the  third  time  there  was  a  smoke,  and  when  it 
cleared  away,  I  saw  him  in  a  grave,  with  neither  winding-sheet 
nor  toflSn.' 

The  tale  of  this  pious  and  resigned  spirit  dwelt  in  mine  ear, 
and  when  I  went  home,  Mrs.  Balwhidder  thought  that  I  had 
met  with  an  o'ercome,  and  was  very  uneasy  ;  so  she  got  the 
tea  soon  ready  to  make  me  better,  but  scarcely  had  we  tasted 
the  first  cup  when  a  loud  lamentation  was  heard  in  the  kitchen. 
This  was  from  that  tawpy  the  wife  of  Thomas  Wilson,  with 
her  three  weans.  They  had  been  seeking  their  meat  among 
the  farmer  houses,  and,  in  coming  home,  forgathered  on  the 
road  with  the  Glasgow  carrier,  who  told  them  that  news  bad 
come  in  the  London  Gazette^  of  a  battle,  in  which  the  regiment 
that  Thomas  had  listed  in  was  engaged,  and  had  suffered  loss 
both  in  rank  and  file  ;  none  doubting  that  their  head  was  in 
the  number  of  the  slain,  the  whole  family  grat  aloud,  and 
came  to  the  manse,  bewailing  him  as  no  more ;  and  it 
afterwards  turned  out  to  be  the  case,  making  it  plain  to  me 
that  there  is  a  far-seeing  discernment  in  the  spirit,  that  reaches 
beyond  the  scope  of  our  incarnate  senses. 

But  the  weight  of  the  war  did  not  end  with  these  afflictions  ; 
for,  instead  of  the  sorrow  that  the  listing  caused,  and  the 
anxiety  after,  and  the  grief  of  the  bloody  tidings,  operating  as 
wholesome  admonition  to  our  young  men,  the  natural  perversity 

82 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


les 

is; 

he 

as 

iity 


of   the   human    heart   was   more   and    more   manifested.     A 
wonderful  interest  was  raised  among  us  all  to  hear  of  what  was 
going  on  in  the  world,  insomuch,  that  I  myself  was  no  longer 
contented  with   the   relation   of  the  news  of  the    month    in 
the   Scots  Magazine^  but  joined   with   my   father-in-law,    Mr. 
Kibbock,  to  get  a  newspaper  twice  a  week  from  Edinburgh. 
As  for    lady   Macadam,   who   being   naturally  an   impatient 
woman,  she  had  one  sent  to  her  three  times  a  week  from 
London,  so  that  we  had  something  fresh  five  times  every  week  ; 
and  the  old  papers  were  lent  out  to  the  families  who  had 
friends  in  the  wars.     This  was  done  on  my  suggestion,  hoping 
it   would    make   all   content    with    their    peaceable    lot,    but 
dominion  for  a  time  had  been  given  to  the  power  of  con- 
trariness, and  it  had  quite  an  opposite  effect.      It  begot  a 
curiosity,  egging  on  to  enterprise,  and,  greatly  to  my  sorrow, 
three  of  the  brawest  lads  in  the  parish,  or  in  any  parish,  all  in 
one  day  took  on  with  a  party  of  the  Scots  Greys  that  were 
then  lying  in  Ayr ;   and  nothing  would  satisfy  the  callans  at 
Mr.   Lorimore's   school,  but,  instead  of  their  innocent  plays 
with  girs  and  shintys,  and  sicklike,  they  must  go  ranking  like 
soldiers,  and  fight   sham- fights   in   bodies.      In   short,  things 
grew  to  a  perfect  hostility,  for  a  swarm  of  weans  came  out 
from  the  schools   of   Irville  on  a    Saturday  afternoon,   and, 
forgathering  with  ours,  they  had  a  battle  with  stones  on  the 
toll-road,  such  as  was  dreadful  to  hear  of,  for  many  a  one  got 
a  mark  that  day  he  will  take  to  the  grave  with  him. 

It  was  not,  however,  by  accidents  of  the  field  only,  that  we 
were  afflicted ;  those  of  the  flood,  too,  were  sent  likewise 
against  us.  In  the  month  of  October,  when  the  corn  was  yet 
in  the  holm.s,  and  on  the  cold  land  by  the  river-side,  the  water 
of  Irville  swelled  to  a  great  speat,  from  bank  to  brae,  sweeping 
all  before  it,  and  roaring,  in  its  might,  like  an  agent  of  divine 
displeasure  sent  forth  to  punish  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth. 
The  loss  of  the  victual  was  a  thing  reparable,  and  those  that 
suffered  did  not  greatly  complain  ;  for,  in  other  respects,  their 
harvest  had  been  plenteous  ;  but  the  river,  in  its  fury,  not 
content  with  overflowing  the  lands,  burst  through  the  sandy 
hills  with  a  raging  force,  and  a  riving  asunder  of  the  solid 
ground,  as  when  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep  were  broken 
up.  All  in  the  parish  was  afoot,  and  on  the  hills,  some 
weeping  and  wringing  their  hands  not  knowing  what  would 

83 


I 


i' 


Mt 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

happen,  when  they  beheld  the  landmarks  of  the  waters  deserted, 
and  the  river  breaking  away  through  the  country,  like  the  war- 
horse  set  loose  in  his  pasture,  and  glorying  in  his  might.  By 
this  change  in  the  way  and  channel  of  the  river,  all  the  mills 
in  our  parish  were  left  more  than  half  a  mile  from  dam  or 
lade  ;  and  the  farmers  through  the  whole  winter,  till  the  new 
mMs  were  built,  had  to  travel  through  a  heavy  road  with  their 
victual,  which  was  a  great  grievance,  and  added  not  a  little  to 
the  afflictions  of  this  unhappy  year,  which  to  me  were  not 
without  a  particularity,  by  the  death  of  a  full  cousin  of  Mrs. 
Balwhidder,  my  first  wife  ;  she  was  grievously  burnt  by  looting 
over  a  candle.  Her  mutch,  which  was  of  the  high  structure 
then  in  vogue,  took  fire,  and  being  fastened  with  corking  pins 
to  a  great  toupee,  it  could  not  be  got  off  until  she  had  sustained 
a  deadly  injury,  of  which,  after  Hngering  long,  she  was  kindly 
eased  by  her  removal  from  trouble.  This  sore  accident  was 
to  me  a  matter  of  deep  concern  and  cogitation ;  but  as  it 
happened  in  Tarboltun,  and  no  in  our  parish,  I  have  only 
alluded  to  it  to  show,  that  when  my  people  were  chastised  by 
the  hand  of  Providence,  their  pastor  was  not  spared,  but  had 
a  drop  from  the  same  vial. 


CHAPTER   XIX 
Year  1778 

Revival  of  the  smuggling  trade — Betty  and  Janet  Pawkie,  and  Robin 
Bicker,  an  exciseman,  come  to  the  parish — Their  doings — Robin  is 
succeeded  by  Mungo  Argyle — Lord  Eglesham  assists  William 
Malcolm. 


This  year  was  as  the  shallow  of  the  bygane ;  there  was  less 
actual  suffering,  but  what  we  came  through  cast  a  gloom 
among  us,  i.nd  we  did  not  get  up  our  spirits  till  the  spring  was 
far  advanced  ;  the  com  was  in  the  ear,  and  the  sun  far  towards 
midsummer  height,  before  there  was  any  regular  show  of 
gladness  in  the  parish. 

It  was  clear  to  me  that  the  wars  were  not  to  be  soon  over, 
for  I  noticed,  in  the  course  of  this  year,  that  there  was  a 

84 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


)m 

/as 

t-ds 

of 

|er, 

a 


greater  christening  of  lad  bairns  than  had  ever  been  in  any 
year  during  my  incumbency ;  and  grave  and  wise  persons, 
observant  of  the  signs  of  the  times,  said,  that  it  had  been  long 
held  as  a  sure  prognostication  of  war,  when  the  births  of  male 
children  outnumbered  that  of  females. 

Our  chief  misfortune  in  this  year  was  a  revival  of  that 
wicked  mother  of  many  mischiefs,  the  smuggling  trade,  which 
concerned  me  greatly  ;  but  it  was  not  allowed  to  it  to  make 
anything  like  a  permanent  stay  among  us,  though  in  some  of 
the  neighbouring  parishes  its  ravages,  both  in  morals  and 
property,  were  very  distressing,  and  many  a  mailing  was  sold 
to  pay  for  the  triumphs  of  the  cutters  and  gangers  ;  for  the 
Government  was  by  this  time  grown  more  eager,  and  the  war 
caused  the  king's  ships  to  be  out  and  about,  which  increased 
the  trouble  of  the  smugglers,  whose  wits  in  their  turn  were 
thereby  much  sharpened. 

After  Mrs.  Malcolm,  by  the  settlement  of  Captain  Macadam, 
had  given  up  her  dealing,  two  maiden-women,  that  were  sisters, 
Betty  and  Janet  Pawkie,  came  in  among  us  from  Ayr,  where 
they  had  friends  in  league  with  some  of  the  laigh  land  folk, 
that  carried  on  the  contraband  with  the  Isle  of  Man,  which 
was  the  very  eye  of  the  smuggling.  They  took  up  the  tea- 
selling, which  Mrs.  Malcolm  had  dropped,  and  did  business 
on  a  larp^er  scale,  having  a  general  huxtry,  with  parliament- 
cakes,  ana  candles,  and  pin-cusl.  ions,  as  well  as  other  groceries, 
in  their  window.  Whether  they  had  any  contraband  dealings, 
or  were  only  back-bitten,  I  cannot  take  it  upon  me  to  say,  but 
it  was  jealoused  in  the  parish,  that  the  meal  in  the  sacks,  that 
came  to  their  door  at  night,  and  was  sent  to  the  Glasgow 
market  in  the  morning,  was  not  made  of  corn.  They  were, 
however,  decent  women,  both  sedate  and  orderly ;  the  eldest, 
Betty  Pawkie,  was  of  a  manly  stature,  and  had  a  long  beard, 
which  made  her  have  a  coarse  look,  but  she  was,  nevertheless, 
a  worthy,  well-doing  creature,  and  at  her  death  she  left  ten 
pounds  to  the  poor  of  the  parish,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  morti- 
fication board  that  the  Session  put  up  in  the  kirk  as  a  testifica- 
tion and  an  example. 

Shortly  after  the  revival  of  the  smuggling,  an  exciseman 
was  put  among  us,  and  the  first  was  Robin  Bicker,  a  very  civil 
lad,  that  had  been  a  flunkie  with  Sir  Hugh  Montgomerie, 
when  he  was  a  residenter  in  Edinburgh,  before  the  old  Sir 

85 


) 


! 


<4'»l 


* 


0. 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


Hugh's  death.  He  was  a  queer  fellow,  and  had  a  coothy  way 
of  getting  in  about  folk,  the  which  was  very  serviceable  to  him 
in  his  vocation  ;  nor  was  he  overly  gleg,  but  when  a  job  was 
ill  done,  and  he  was  obliged  to  notice  it,  he  would  often  break 
out  on  the  smugglers  for  being  so  stupid,  so  that  for  an  excise- 
man he  was  wonderful  well  liked,  and  did  not  object  to  a 
waught  of  brandy  at  a  time,  when  the  auld  wives  ca'd  it  well- 
water.  It  happened,  however,  that  some  unneighbourly 
person  sent  him  notice  of  a  decking  of  tea  chests,  or  brandy 
kegs,  at  which  both  Jenny  and  Betty  Pawkie  were  the  howdies. 
Robin  could  not  but  therefore  enter  their  house ;  however, 
before  going  in,  he  just  cried  at  the  door  to  somebody  on  the 
.oad,  so  as  to  let  the  twa  industrious  lassies  hear  he  was  at 
hand.  They  were  not  slack  in  closing  the  trance-door,  and 
putting  stoups  and  stools  behind  it,  so  as  to  cause  trouble,  and 
give  time  before  anybody  could  get  in.  They  then  emptied 
their  chaflf-bed,  and  filled  the  tikeing  with  tea,  and  Betty  went 
in  on  the  top,  covering  herself  with  the  blanket,  and  graining 
like  a  woman  in  labour.  It  was  thought  that  Robin  Bicker 
himself  would  not  have  been  overly  particular  in  searching  the 
house,  considering  there  was  a  woman  seemingly  in  the  dead 
thraws  ;  but  a  sorner,  an  incomer  from  the  east  country,  and 
that  hung  about  the  change -house  as  a  divor  hostler,  that 
would  rather  gang  a  day's  journey  in  the  dark  than  turn  a 
spade  in  daylight,  came  to  him  as  he  stood  at  the  door,  and 
went  in  with  him  to  see  the  sport.  Robin,  for  some  reason, 
could  not  bid  him  go  away,  and  both  Betty  and  Janet  were 
sure  he  was  in  the  plot  against  them ;  indeed,  it  was  always 
thought  he  was  an  informer,  and  no  doubt  he  was  something 
not  canny,  for  he  had  a  down  look. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  doorway  was  cleared  of  the 
stoups  and  stools,  and  Jenny  was  in  great  concern,  and 
flustered,  as  she  said,  for  her  poor  sister,  who  was  taken  with 
a  heart-cholic.  '  I'm  sorry  for  her,'  said  Robin,  *  but  I'll  be 
as  quiet  as  possible ' ;  and  so  he  searched  all  the  house,  but 
found  nothing,  at  the  which  his  companion,  the  divor  east- 
country  hostler,  swore  an  oath  that  could  not  be  misunder- 
stood, so,  without  more  ado,  but  as  all  thought  against  the 
grain,  Robin  went  up  to  sympathise  with  Betty  in  the  bed, 
whose  groans  were  loud  and  vehement.  *  Let  me  feel  your 
pulse,'  said  Robin,  and  he  looted  down  as  she  put  forth  her 

86 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


r 
r 


arm  from  aneith  the  clothes,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the 
bed,  cried,  *Hey !  what's  this?  this  is  a  costly  filling.'  Upon 
which  Betty  jumpet  up  quite  recovered,  and  Jenny  fell  to  the 
wailing  and  railing,  while  the  hostler  from  the  east  country 
took  the  bed  of  tea  on  his  back,  to  carry  it  to  the  change- 
house,  till  a  cart  was  gotten  to  take  it  into  the  custom-house 
at  Trville. 

Betty  Pawkie  being  thus  suddenly  cured,  and  grudging  the 
lose  of  property,  took  i.  knife  in  her  hand,  and  as  the  divor 
was  crossing  the  burn  at  the  stepping-stones  that  lead  to  the 
back  of  the  change-house,  she  ran  after  him,  and  ripped  up 
the  tikeing,  and  sent  all  the  tea  floating  away  on  the  burn, 
which  wiis  thought  a  brave  action  of  Betty,  and  the  story  not 
a  little  helped  to  lighten  our  melancholy  meditations. 

Robin  Bicker  was  soon  after  this  affair  removed  to  another 
district,  and  we  got  in  his  place  one  Mungo  Argyle,  who  was 
as  proud  as  a  provost,  being  come  of  Highland  parentage. 
Black  was  the  hour  he  came  among  my  people,  for  he  was 
needy  and  greedy,  and  rode  on  the  top  of  his  commission. 
Of  all  the  manifold  ills  in  the  train  of  smuggling,  surely  the 
excisemen  are  the  worst,  and  the  setting  of  this  rabiator  ovrr 
us  was  a  severe  judgment  for  our  sins.  But  he  suffered  for't, 
and  peace  be  with  him  in  the  grave,  where  the  wicked  cease 
from  troubling. 

Willie  Malcolm,  the  youngest  son  of  his  mother,  had  by 
this  time  learnt  all  that  Mr.  Lorimore,  the  schoolmaster,  could 
teach,  and  as  it  was  evidenced  to  everybody,  by  his  mild 
manners  and  saintliness  of  demeanour,  that  he  was  a  chosen 
vessel,  his  mother  longed  to  fulfil  his  own  wish,  which  was 
doubtless  the  natural  working  of  the  act  of  grace  that  had 
been  shed  upon  him ;  but  she  had  not  the  wherewithal  to 
send  him  to  the  College  of  Glasgow,  where  he  was  desirous 
to  study,  and  her  just  pride  would  not  allow  her  to  cess  his 
brother-in-law,  the  Captain  Macadam,  whom,  I  should  now 
mention,  was  raised,  in  the  end  of  this  year,  as  we  read  in 
the  newspapers,  to  be  a  major.  I  thought  her  in  this  some- 
what unreasonable,  for  she  would  not  be  persuaded  to  let  me 
write  to  the  captain  ;  but  when  I  reflected  on  the  good  that 
"V  iUie  Malcolm  might  in  time  do  as  a  preacher,  I  said 
nothing  more  to  her,  but  indited  a  letter  to  the  Lord  Eglesham, 
setting  forth  the  lad's  parts,  telling  who  he  was  and  all  about 

8; 


I 


t 


'  hi 


'r 

'it' 

ril 

1 


7, 


'  S/te  ripped  up  th:  tikeing,  nnd  sent  all  the  teajloaiing  away: 
Copyright  1895  by  Maonillan  &•  Co. 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

his  mother's  scruples  ;  and,  by  the  retour  of  the  post  from 
London,  his  lordship  sent  me  an  order  on  his  steward,  to  pay 
me  twenty  pounds  towards  equipping  my  proti[i;i\  as  he 
called  Willie,  with  a  promise  to  pay  for  his  education,  which 
was  such  a  great  thing  for  his  lordship  to  do  ofT-hand  on  my 
recommendation,  that  it  won  him  much  affection  throughout 
the  country-side  ;  and  folk  began  to  wonder,  rehearsing  the 
great  things,  as  was  said,  that  I  had  gotten  my  lord  at 
different  times,  and  on  divers  occasions,  to  do,  which  had  a 
vast  of  influence  among  my  brethren  of  the  presbytery,  and 
they  grew  into  a  state  of  greater  cordiality  with  me,  looking 
on  me  as  a  man  having  authority  ;  bul  I  was  none  thereat 
lifted  up,  for  not  teing  gifted  with  the  power  of  a  kirk-filling 
eloquence,  i  was  but  little  sought  for  at  sacraments  and  fasts, 
and  solemn  days,  which  was  doubtless  well  ordained,  for  I 
had  no  motive  to  seek  fame  in  foreign  pulpits,  but  was  left 
to  walk  in  the  paths  of  simplicity  within  my  own  parish.  To 
eschew  evil  myself,  and  to  teach  others  to  do  the  same,  I 
thought  the  main  duties  of  the  pastoral  office,  and  with  a 
sincere  heart  endeavoured  what  in  me  la/  to  perform  them 
with  meekness,  sobriety,  and  a  spirit  wakeful  to  the  inroads 
of  sin  and  Satan.  But  oh  the  sordidness  of  human  nature  ! — 
The  kindness  of  the  Lord  Eglesham's  own  disposition  was 
ascribed  to  my  influence,  and  many  a  dry  answer  I  was 
obliged  to  give  to  applicants  that  would  have  me  trouble  his 
lordship,  as  if  I  had  a  claim  upon  him.  In  the  ensuing  year, 
the  notion  of  my  cordiality  with  him  came  to  a  great  head, 
and  brought  about  an  event  that  could  no .  have  been  fore- 
thought by  me  as  a  thing  within  the  compass  of  possibility 
to  bring  to  pass. 


CHAPTER    XX 

Year  1779 

He  goes  to  Edinburgh  to  ittend  the  General  Assembly — Preaches 
before  the  Commissioner. 

I  WAS  named  in  this  year  for  the  General  Assembly,  and  Mrs. 
Balwhidder,  by  her  continual   thrift,  having  made  our  purse 

89 


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ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


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able  to  stand  a  sliake  against  the  wind,  we  resolved  to  go 
into  Edinburgh  in  a  creditable  manner.  Accordingly,  in 
conjunct  with  Mrs.  Dalrymple,  the  lady  of  a  major  of  that 
name,  we  hired  the  Irvillc  chaise,  and  we  put  up  in  Glasgow 
at  the  Black  Boy,  where  we  staid  all  night.  Next  morning 
by  seven  o'clock  we  got  into  the  fly  coach  for  the  capital  of 
Scotland,  which  we  reached  after  a  heavy  journey,  about  the 
same  hour  in  the  evening,  and  put  up  at  the  public  where  it 
stopped,  till  the  next  day ;  for  really  both  me  and  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  were  worn  out  with  the  undertaking,  and  found 
a  cup  of  tea  a  vast  refreshment. 

Betimes,  in  the  morning,  having  taken  our  breakfast,  we 
got  a  caddy  to  guide  us  and  our  wallise  to  Widow  M 'Vicar's, 
at  the  head  of  the  Covenanters'  Close.  She  was  a  relation 
to  my  first  wife,  Betty  Lanshaw,  my  own  full  cousin  that  was, 
and  we  had  advised  her,  by  course  of  post,  of  our  coming, 
and  intendment  to  lodge  with  her,  as  uncos  and  strangers. 
But  Mrs.  M* Vicar  kept  a  cloth  shop,  and  sold  plaidings  and 
flannels,  besides  Yorkshire  superfines,  and  was  used  to  the 
sudden  incoming  of  strangers,  especially  visitants,  both  from 
the  West  and  the  North  Highlands,  and  was  withal  a  gawsy 
furthy  woman,  taking  great  pleasure  in  hospitality  and  every 
sort  of  kindliness  and  discretion.  She  would  not  allow  of 
such  a  thing  as  our  being  lodgers  in  her  house,  but  was  so 
cagey  to  see  us,  and  to  have  it  in  her  power  to  be  civil  to  a 
minister,  as  she  was  pleased  to  say,  of  such  repute,  that 
nothing  less  would  content  her,  but  that  we  must  live  upon 
her,  and  partake  of  all  the  best  that  could  be  gotten  for  us 
within  the  walls  of  '  the  gude  town.' 

When  we  found  ourselves  so  comfortable,  Mrs.  Balwhidder 
and  me  waited  on  my  patron's  family,  that  was,  the  young 
ladies,  and  the  laird,  who  had  been  my  pupil,  but  was  now  an 
advocate  high  in  the  law.  They  likewise  were  kind  also.  In 
short,  everybody  in  Edinburgh  were  in  a  manner  wearisome 
kind,  and  we  could  scarcely  find  time  to  see  the  Castle  and 
the  palace  of  Holyrood  House,  and  +hat  more  sanctified  place, 
where  the  Maccabeus  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland,  John  Knox, 
was  wont  to  live. 

Upon  my  introduction  to  his  Grace  the  Commissioner,  I 
was  delighted  and  surprised  to  find  the  Lord  Eglesham  at  the 
levee,  and  his  lordship  was  so  glad  on  seeing  me,  that  he 

90 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

made  me  more  kenspeckle  than  I  could  have  wished  to  have 
been  in  his  (trace's  presence ;  for,  owing  to  the  same,  I  was 
required  to  preach  before  his  Grace,  upon  a  jocose  recommenda- 
tion of  his  lordship  ;  the  which  gave  me  great  concern,  and 
daunted  me,  so  that  in  the  interim  I  was  almost  bereft  of  all 
peace  and  studious  composure  of  mind.  Fain  would  I  have 
eschewed  the  honour  that  was  thus  thrust  upon  me,  but  both 
my  wife  and  Mrs.  M'Vicar  were  just  lifted  out  of  themselves 
with  the  thought. 

When  the  day  came,  I  thought  all  things  in  this  world  were 
loosened  from  their  hold,  and  that  the  sure  and  steadfast  earth 
itself  was  grown  coggly  beneath  my  feet,  as  I  mounted  the 
pulpit.  With  what  sincerity  I  prayed  for  help  that  day,  and 
never  stood  man  more  in  need  of  it,  for  through  all  my  prayer 
the  congregation  was  so  watchful  and  still,  doubtless  to  note  if 
my  doctrine  was  orthodox,  that  the  beating  of  my  heart  might 
have  been  heard  to  the  uttermost  corners  of  the  kirk. 

I  had  chosen  as  my  text,  from  Second  Samuel,  xixth  chapter, 
and  35th  verse,  these  words — 'Can  I  hear  any  more  the 
voice  of  singing  men  and  singing  women  ?  wherefore  then 
should  thy  servant  be  yet  a  burden  to  the  king  ? '  And  hardly 
had  I  with  a  trembling  voice  read  the  words,  when  I  perceived 
an  awful  stir  in  the  congregation,  for  all  applied  the  words  to 
the  state  of  the  Church,  and  the  appointment  of  his  Grace  the 
Commissioner.  Having  paused  after  giving  out  the  text,  the 
same  fearful  and  critical  silence  again  ensued,  and  every  eye 
was  so  fixed  upon  me,  that  I  was  for  a  time  deprived  of 
courage  to  look  about ;  but  Heaven  was  pleased  to  compas- 
sionate my  infirmity,  and  as  I  proceeded,  I  began  to  warm  as 
in  my  own  pulpit.  I  described  the  gorgeous  Babylonian 
harlot  riding  forth  in  her  chariots  of  gold  and  silver,  with 
trampling  steeds,  and  a  hurricane  of  followers,  drunk  with  the 
cup  of  abominations,  all  shouting  with  revelry,  and  glorying  in 
her  triumph,  treading  down  in  their  career  those  precious 
pearls,  the  saints  and  martyrs,  into  the  mire  beneath  their 
swinish  feet.  *  Before  her  you  may  behold  Wantonness  playing 
the  tinkling  cymbal,  Insolence  beating  the  drum,  and  Pride 
blowing  the  trumpet.  Every  vice  is  there  with  his  emblems, 
and  the  seller  of  pardons,  with  his  crucifix  and  triple  crown,  is 
distributing  his  largess  of  pe*  iition.  The  voices  of  men  shout 
to   set   wide   the   gates,  to  give  entrance  to   the   Queen  of 

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ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


nations,  and  the  pates  arc  set  wide,  and  they  all  enter.     The 
avenKinj^  j^ates  close  on  them — they  are  all  shut  up  in  hell.' 

There  was  a  souph  in  the  kirk  as  I  said  these  words,  for 
the  vision  I  described  seemed  to  be  passiiij,'  before  me  as  I 
spoke,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  had  witnessed  the  everlasting 
destruction  of  Antichrist,  and  the  worshippers  of  the  beast. 
But  soon  recovering  myself,  I  said,  in  a  soft  and  gentle 
manner,  '  Look  at  yon  lovely  creature  in  virgin-raiment,  with 
the  Bible  in  her  hand.  Sec  how  mildly  she  walks  along, 
giving  alms  to  the  poor  as  she  passes  on  towards  the  door  of 
that  lowly  dwelling.  Let  us  follow  her  in.  She  takes  her  scat 
in  the  chair  at  the  bedside  of  the  poor  old  dying  sinner,  and 
as  he  tosses  in  the  height  of  penitence  and  despair,  she  reads 
to  him  the  promise  of  the  Saviour,  "  This  night  thou  shalt  be 
with  me  in  Paradise  "  ;  and  he  embraces  her  with  transports, 
and  falling  back  on  his  pillow,  calmly  closes  his  eyes  in  peace. 
She  is  the  true  religion  ;  and  when  I  see  what  she  can  do  even 
in  the  last  moments  of  the  guilty,  well  may  we  exclaim,  when 
we  think  of  the  symbols  and  pageantry  of  the  departed 
superstition.  Can  I  hear  any  more  the  voice  of  singing  men 
and  singing  women  ?  No  ;  let  us  cling  to  the  simplicity  of 
the  Truth  that  is  now  established  in  our  native  land.' 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  clause  of  my  discourse,  the 
congregation,  which  had  been  all  so  still  and  so  solemn,  never 
coughing,  as  was  often  the  case  among  my  people,  gave  a 
great  rustle,  changing  their  positions,  by  which  I  was  almost 
overcome ;  however,  I  took  heart,  and  ventured  on,  and 
pointed  out,  that  with  our  Bible  and  an  orthodox  priesthood, 
we  stood  in  no  need  of  the  king's  authority,  however  bound 
we  were  in  temporal  things  to  respect  it,  and  I  showed  this  at 
some  length,  crying  out,  in  the  words  of  my  text,  '  Wherefore 
then  should  thy  servant  be  yet  a  bu'  Jen  to  the  king  ? '  in  the 
saying  of  which  I  happened  to  turn  my  eyes  towards  his  Grace 
the  Commissioner,  as  he  sat  on  the  throne,  and  I  thought  his 
countenance  was  troubled,  which  made  me  add,  that  he  might 
not  think  I  meant  him  any  offence,  That  the  King  of  the 
Church  was  one  before  whom  the  great,  and  the  wise,  and 
the  good, — all  doomed  and  sentenced  convicts — implore  his 
meicy.  '  It  is  true,'  said  I,  '  that  in  the  days  of  his  tribulation 
he  was  wounded  for  our  iniquities,  and  died  to  save  us  ;  but, 
at  his  death,  his  greatness  was  proclaimed  by  the  quick  and 

92 


ANNALS  OK  TIIK  PARISH 


the  dead.  There  was  sorrow,  and  there  was  wonder,  and  there 
was  rage,  and  there  was  remorse  ;  but  there  was  no  shame 
there — none  bhished  on  that  day  at  that  sight  but  yon 
glorious  luminary.'  The  congregation  rose  and  looked  round, 
as  the  sun  that  I  ])ointed  at  shone  in  at  the  window.  I  was 
disconcerted  by  their  movement,  and  my  sj)irit  was  spent,  so 
that  I  could  say  no  more. 

When  I  came  down  from  the  pulpit,  there  was  a  great 
pressing  in  of  acquaintance  and  ministers,  who  lauded  me 
exceedingly ;  but  I  thought  it  could  be  only  in  derision, 
therefore  I  slipped  home  to  Mrs.  M 'Vicar's  as  fast  as  I  could. 

Mrs.  M'V'icar,  who  was  a  clever,  hearing-all  sort  of  a 
neighbour,  said  my  sermon  was  greatly  thought  of,  and  that 
I  had  surprised  everybody ;  but  I  was  fearful  there  was 
something  of  jocularity  at  the  bottom  of  this,  for  she  was  a 
flaunty  woman,  and  liked  well  to  give  a  good-humoured  jibe 
or  jeer.  However,  his  Grace  the  Commissioner  was  very 
thankful  for  the  discourse,  and  complimented  me  on  what  he 
called  my  apostolical  earnestness  ;  but  he  was  a  courteous 
man,  and  I  could  not  trust  to  him,  especially  as  my  Lord 
Eglesham  had  told  me  in  secrecy  before — it's  true,  it  was  in 
his  gallanting  way, — that,  in  speaking  of  the  king's  servant  as 
I  had  done,  I  had  rather  gone  beyond  the  bounds  of  modern 
moderation.  Altogether,  I  found  neither  pleasure  nor  profit  in 
what  was  thought  so  great  an  honour,  but  longed  for  the 
privacy  of  my  own  narrow  pasture  and  little  flock. 

It  was  in  this  visit  to  Edinburgh  that  Mrs.  Balwhidder 
bought  her  silver  teapot,  and  other  ornamental  articles  ;  but 
this  was  not  done,  as  she  assured  me,  in  a  vain  spirit  of 
bravery,  which  I  could  not  have  abided,  but  because  it  was 
well  known,  that  tea  draws  better  in  a  silver  pot,  and  drinks 
pleasanter  in  a  china  cup,  than  out  of  any  other  kind  of  cup  or 
teapot. 

By  the  time  I  got  home  to  the  manse,  I  had  been  three 
whole  weeks  and  five  days  absent,  which  was  more  than  all 
my  absences  together,  from  the  time  of  my  placing,  and  my 
people  were  glowing  with  satisfaction  when  they  saw  us 
driving  in  a  Glasgow  chaise  through  the  clachan  to  the  manse. 

The  rest  of  the  year  was  merely  a  quiet  succession  of  small 
incidents,  none  of  which  are  worthy  of  notation,  though  they 
were  all  severally,  no  doubt,  of  aught  somewhere,  as  they  took 

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ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

up  both  time  and  place  in  the  coming  to  pass,  and  nothing 
comes  to  pass  without  helping  onwards  to  some  great  end  ; 
each  particular  little  thing  that  happens  in  the  world,  being  a 
seed  sown  by  the  hand  of  Providence  to  yield  an  increase^ 
which  increase  is  destined,  in  its  turn,  to  minister  to  some 
higher  purpose,  until  at  last  the  issue  affects  the  whole  earth. 
There  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  that  doth  not  advance  the 
cause  of  goodness  ;  no,  not  even  the  sins  of  the  wicked,  though, 
through  the  dim  casement  of  her  mortal  tabernacle,  the  soul 
of  man  cannot  discern  the  method  thereof. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

Year  1780 

Lord  George  Gordon — Report  of  an  illumination. 

This  was,  among  ourselves,  another  year  of  few  events.  A 
sound,  it  is  true,  came  among  us  of  a  design  on  the  part  of 
the  government  in  London  to  bring  back  the  old  harlotry  of 
papistry  ;  but  we  spent  our  time  in  the  lea  of  the  hedge,  and 
the  lown  of  the  hill.  Some  there  were  that  a  panic  seized 
upon,  when  they  heard  of  Lord  George  Gordon,  tha<"  zealous 
Protestant,  being  committed  to  the  Tower ;  but  for  my  part, 
I  had  no  terror  upon  me,  for  I  saw  all  things  around  me  going 
forward  improving,  and  I  said  to  myself,  it  is  not  so  when 
Providence  permits  scathe  and  sorrow  to  fall  upon  a  nation. 
Civil  troubles,  and  the  casting  down  of  thrones,  is  always  fore- 
warned by  want  and  poverty  striking  the  people.  What  I 
have,  therefore,  chiefly  to  record  as  the  memorables  of  this 
year  are  things  of  small  import, — the  main  of  v/hich  are,  that 
some  of  the  neighbouring  lairds,  taking  example  by  Mr. 
Kibbock,  my  father-in-law  that  was,  began  in  this  fall  to  plant 
the  tops  of  their  hills  with  mounts  of  fir-trees  ;  and  Mungo 
Argyle,  the  exciseman,  just  berried  the  poor  smugglers  to 
death,  a-id  made  a  power  of  prize-money,  which,  however, 
had  not  the  wonted  effect  of  riches ;  for  it  brought  him  no 
honour,  and  he  lived  in  the  parish  like  a  leper,  or  any  othei 
kind  of  excommunicated  person. 

94 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

But  I  should  not  forged  "  Tiost  droll  thing  that  took  place 
with  Jenny  Gaffavv  and  her  daughter.  They  had  been  missed 
from  the  parish  for  some  days,  and  folk  began  to  be  uneasy 
about  what  could  have  become  of  the  two  silly  creatures  ;  till 
one  night,  at  the  dead  hour,  a  strange  light  was  seen  beaming 
and  burning  at  the  window  of  the  bit  hole  where  they  lived. 
It  was  first  observed  by  Lady  Macadam,  who  never  went  to 
bed  at  any  Christian  hour,  but  sat  up  reading  her  new  French 
novels  and  play-books  wit'..  Miss  Sabrina,  the  schoolmistress. 
She  gave  the  alarm,  thinking  that  such  a  great  and  continuous 
light  from  a  lone  house,  where  never  candle  had  been  seen 
before,  could  be  nothing  less  than  the  flame  of  a  burning. 
And  sending  Miss  Sabrina  and  the  liervants  to  see  what  was 
the  matter,  they  beheld  daft  Jenny,  and  her  as  daft  daughter, 
with  a  score  of  candle  doups  (Heaven  only  knows  where  they 
got  them  !)  placed  in  the  window,  and  the  twa  fools  dancing, 
and  linking,  and  admiring  before  the  door.  '  What's  all  this 
about,  Jenny?'  said  Miss  Sabrina.  '  Awa'  wi'  you,  awa'  wi'  you 
— ye  wicked  pope,  ye  whore  of  Babylon.  Isna  it  for  the  glory 
of  God  and  the  Protestant  religion  ?  d'ye  think  I  will  be  a 
pope  as  long  as  light  can  put  out  darkness  ?'  And  with  tii-t 
the  mother  and  daughter  began  again  to  leap  and  dance  as 
madly  as  before. 

It  seems  that  poor  Jenny  having  heard  of  the  luminations 
that  were  lighted  up  through  the  country,  on  the  ending  of  the 
Popish  Bill,  had,  with  Meg,  travelled  by  themselves  into 
Glasgow,  where  they  had  gathered  or  begge>d  a  stock  of 
candles,  and  coming  back  under  the  cloud  of  night,  had  sur- 
prised and  alarmed  the  whole  clachan  by  lighting  up  their 
window  in  the  manner  that  I  have  described.  Poor  Miss 
Sabrina,  at  Jenny's  uncivil  salutation,  went  back  to  my  lady 
with  her  heart  full,  and  would  fain  have  had  the  idiots  brought 
to  task  before  the  Session  for  what  they  had  said  to  her.  But 
I  would  not  hear  tell  of  such  a  thing,  for  which  Miss  Sabrina 
owed  me  a  grudge,  that  was  not  soon  given  up.  At  the  same 
time,  I  was  grieved  to  see  the  testimonies  of  joyfulness  for  a 
holy  victory  brought  into  such  disreput*^  by  the  ill-timed 
demonstrations  of  the  two  irreclaimable  naturals,  that  had  not 
a  true  conception  of  the  cause  for  which  they  were  triumphing. 


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ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER    XXII 


Year  1781 

Argyle,  the  exciseman,  grows  a  gentleman — I^ord  Eglesham's  concubine — 
His  death — The  parish  children  afflicted  with  the  measles. 

If  the  two  last  years  passed  o'er  the  heads  of  me  and  my  people 
without  any  manifest  dolour,  which  is  a  great  thing  to  say 
for  so  long  a  period  in  this  world,  we  had  our  own  trials  and 
tribulations,  in  the  one  of  which  I  have  now  to  make  mention. 
Mungo  Argyle,  the  exciseman,  waxing  rich,  grew  proud  and 
petulant,  and  would  have  ruled  the  country-side  with  a  rod  of  iron. 
Nothing  less  would  serve  him  than  a  fine  horse  to  ride  on,  and 
a  world  of  other  conveniences  and  luxuries,  as  if  he  had  been 
on  an  equality  with  gentlemen  And  he  bought  a  grand  gun, 
which  was  called  a  fowling-piece  ;  and  he  had  two  pointer 
dogs,  the  like  of  which  had  not  been  seen  in  the  parish  since 
the  planting  of  the  Eglesham  Wood  on  the  moorland,  which 
was  four  years  before  I  got  the  call.  Everybody  said  the  man 
was  fey,  and  truly,  when  I  remarked  him  so  gallant  and  gay 
on  the  Sabbath  at  the  kirk,  and  noted  his  glowing  face  and 
gleg  e'en,  I  thought  at  times  there  was  something  no  canny 
about  him.  It  was  indeed  clear  to  be  seen,  that  the  man  was 
hurried  out  of  himself,  but  nobody  could  have  thought  that  the 
death  he  was  to  dree  would  have  been  what  it  was. 

About  the  end  of  summer  my  Lord  Eglesham  came  to  the 
castle,  bringing  with  him  an  English  madam,  that  was  his 
Miss.  Some  days  after  he  came  down  from  London,  as  he 
was  riding  past  the  manse,  his  lordship  stopped  to  inquire  for 
my  health,  and  I  went  to  the  door  to  speak  to  him.  I  thought 
that  he  did  not  meet  me  with  that  blithe  countenance  he  was 
wont,  and  in  going  away,  he  said  with  a  blush,  '  I  fear  I  dare 
not  ask  you  to  come  to  the  castle.'  I  had  heard  of  his  con- 
cubine, and  I  said,  '  In  saying  so,  my  lord,  you  show  a  spark 
of  grace,  for  it  would  not  become  me  to  see  what  I  have 
heard  ;  and  I  am  surprised,  my  lord,  you  will  not  rather  take 
a  lady  of  your  own.'  He  looked  kindly,  but  confused,  saying, 
he  did  not  know  where  to  get  one  ;  so  seeing  his  shame,  and 
not  wishing  to  put  him  out  of  conceit  entirely  with  himself,  I 

96 


•,  I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

replied,  *  Na,  na,  my  lord,  there's  nobody  will  believe  that,  for 
there  never  was  a  silly  Jock,  but  there  was  as  silly  a  Jenny,' 
at  which  he  laughed  heartily,  and  rode  away.  But  I  know 
not  what  was  in't,  I  was  troubled  in  mind  about  him,  and 
thought,  as  he  was  riding  away,  that  I  would  never  see  him 
again  ;  and  sure  enough  it  so  happened,  for  the  next  day, 
being  airing  in  his  coach  with  Miss  Spangle,  the  lady  he  had 
brought,  he  happened  to  see  Mungo  Argyle  with  his  dogs  and 
his  gun,  and  my  lord  being  as  particular  about  his  game  as 
the  other  was  about  boxes  of  tea  and  kegs  of  brandy,  he 
jumped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  ran  to  take  the  gun.  Words 
passed,  and  the  exciseman  shot  my  lord.  Never  shall  I  forget 
that  day ;  such  riding,  such  running,  the  whole  country-side 
afoot ;  but  the  same  night  my  lord  breathed  his  last,  and  the 
mad  and  wild  reprobate  that  did  the  deed  was  taken  up  and 
sent  off  to  Edinburgh.  This  was  a  woeful  riddance  of  that 
oppressor,  for  my  lord  was  a  good  landlord  and  a  kind-hearted 
man  ;  and  albeit,  though  a  little  thoughtless,  was  aye  ready  to 
make  his  power,  when  the  way  was  pointed  out,  minister  to 
good  works.  The  whole  parish  mourned  for  him,  and  there 
was  not  a  sorer  heart  in  all  its  bounds  than  my  own.  Never 
was  such  a  sight  seen  as  his  burial :  The  whole  country-side 
was  there,  and  all  as  solemn  as  if  they  had  been  assembled  in 
the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  in  the  latter  day.  The  hedges  where 
the  funeral  was  to  pass  were  clad  with  weans,  like  bunches  of 
hips  and  haws,  and  the  kirkyard  was  as  'f  all  its  own  dead 
were  risen.  Never,  do  I  think,  was  such  a  multitude  gathered 
together.  Some  thought  there  could  not  be  less  than  three 
thousand  grown  men,  besides  women  and  children. 

Scarcely  was  this  great  public  calamity  past,  for  it  could  be 
reckoned  no  less,  when  one  Saturday  afternoon,  as  Miss 
Sabrina,  the  schoolmistress,  was  dining  with  Lady  Macadam, 
'  er  ladyship  was  stricken  with  the  paralytics,  and  her  face  so 
ihrown  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  that  Miss  Sabrina  came 
flying  to  the  manse  for  the  help  and  advice  of  Mrs.  Ralwhidder. 
A  doctor  was  gotten  with  all  speed  by  express,  but  her  lady- 
ship was  smitten  beyond  the  reach  of  medicine.  She  lived, 
however,  some  time  after  ;  but  oh,  she  was  such  an  object,  that 
it  was  a  grief  to  see  her.  She  could  only  mutter  when  she 
tried  to  speak,  and  was  as  helpless  as  a  baby.  Though  she 
never  liked  me,  nor  could  I  say  there  was  many  things  in  her 
H  97 


il 


4 


■  ,xi\ 

-  J'S  J 

lli 

'.■■\  i 

•If 


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IF. 


tl; 


^^■'>^v 


'  IVords  passed,  and  iJu  exciseman  shot  my  lord.' 
Copyright  1895  by  Macmillan  &•  Co, 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


demeanour  that  pleased  me,  yet  she  was  a  free-handed  woman 
to  the  needful,  and  when  she  died  she  was  more  missed  than 
it  was  thought  she  could  have  been. 

Shortly  after  her  funeral,  which  was  managed  by  a  gentle- 
man sent  from  her  friends  in  Edinburgh,  that  I  wrote  to 
about  her  condition,  the  major,  her  son,  with  his  lady,  Kate 
Malcolm,  and  two  pretty  bairns,  came  and  stayed  in  hev  house 
for  a  time,  and  they  were  a  great  happiness  to  us  all,  both  in 
the  way  of  drinking  tea,  and  sometimes  taking  a  bit  dinner, 
their  only  mother  now,  the  worthy  and  pious  Mrs.  Malcolm, 
being  regularly  of  the  company. 

Before  the  end  of  the  year,  I  should  mention  that  the 
fortune  of  Mrs.  Malcolm's  family  got  another  shove  upwards, 
by  the  promotion  of  her  second  son,  Robert  Malcolm,  who, 
being  grown  an  expert  and  careful  mariner,  was  made  captain 
of  a  grand  ship,  whereof  Provost  Maitland  of  Glasgow,  that 
was  kind  to  his  mother  in  her  distresses,  was  the  owner.  But 
that  douce  lad  Willie,  her  youngest  son,  who  was  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Glasgow,  under  the  Lord  Eglesham's  patronage,  was 
like  to  have  suffered  a  blight ;  however.  Major  Macadam, 
when  I  spoke  to  him  anent  the  young  man's  loss  of  his  patron, 
said,  with  a  pleasant  generosity,  he  should  not  be  stickit ;  and, 
accordingly,  he  made  up,  as  far  as  money  could,  for  the  loss  of 
his  lordship,  but  there  was  none  that  made  up  for  the  great 
power  and  influence,  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  the  earl  would 
have  exerted  in  his  behalf,  when  he  was  ripened  for  the 
church.  So  that,  although  in  time  William  came  out  a  sound 
and  heart  -  searching  preacher,  he  was  long  obliged,  like 
many  another  unfriended  saint,  to  cultivate  sand,  and  wash 
Ethiopians  in  the  shape  of  an  east -country  gentleman's 
camstrairy  weans  ;  than  which,  as  he  wrote  me  himself,  there 
cannot  be  on  earth  a  greater  trial  oi"  temper.  However,  in  the 
end  he  was  rewarded,  and  is  not  only  now  a  placed  minister, 
but  a  doctor  of  divinity. 

The  death  of  Lady  Macadam  was  followed  by  another 
parochial  misfortune,  for,  considering  the  time  when  it 
happened,  we  could  count  it  as  nothing  less  :  Auld  Thomas 
Howkings,  the  betherel,  fell  sick,  and  died  in  the  course  of  a, 
week's  Illness,  about  the  end  of  November,  and  the  measles 
coming  at  that  time  upon  the  parish,  there  was  such  a 
smashery  of  the  poor  weans,  as  had  not  been  known  for  an 

99 


r 


■yr- 


ill  -j 


1  'a:'  j 


•111 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

age  ;  insomuch,  that  James  Banes,  the  lad  who  was  Thomas 
Howkings's  helper,  rose  in  open  rebellion  against  the  Session, 
during  his  superior's  illness,  and  we  were  constrained  to 
augment  his  pay,  and  to  promise  him  the  place,  if  Thomas 
did  not  recover,  which  it  was  then  thought  he  could  not  do. 
On  the  day  this  happened,  there  were  three  dead  children  in 
the  clachan,  and  a  panic  and  consternation  spread  about  the 
burial  of  them,  when  James  Banes's  insurrection  was  known, 
which  made  both  me  and  the  Session  glad  to  hush  up  the 
affair,  that  the  heart  of  the  public  might  have  no  more  than 
the  sufferings  of  individuals  to  hurt  it.  Thus  ended  a  year,  on 
many  accounts,  heavy  to  be  remembered. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

Year  1782 

News  of  the  victory  over  the  French  fleet — He  has  to  inform  Mrs.  Malcolm 
of  the  death  of  her  son  Charles  in  the  engagement. 

Although  I  have  not  been  particular  in  noticing  it,  from  time 
to  time  there  had  been  an  occasional  going  off,  at  fairs  and 
on  market-days,  of  the  lads  of  the  parish  as  soldiers,  and  when 
Captain  Malcolm  got  the  command  of  his  ship,  no  less  than 
four  young  men  sailed  witu  him  from  the  clachan  ;  so  that  we 
were  deeper  and  deeper  interested  in  the  proceedings  of  the 
doleful  war  that  was  raging  in  the  plantations.  By  one  post 
we  heard  of  no  less  than  three  brave  fellows  belonging  to  us 
being  slain  in  one  battle,  for  which  there  was  a  loud  and 
general  lamentation. 

Shortly  after  this,  I  got  a  letter  from  Charles  Malcolm,  a 
very  pretty  letter  it  indeed  was  ;  he  had  heard  of  my  Lord 
Eglesham's  murder,  and  grieved  for  the  loss,  both  because  his 
lordship  was  a  good  man,  and  because  he  had  been  such  a 
friend  to  him  and  his  family.  *  But,'  said  Charles,  '  the  best 
way  that  I  can  show  my  gratitude  for  his  patronage  is  to 
prove  myself  a  good  officer  to  my  king  and  country.*  Which 
I  thought  a  brave  sentiment,  and  was  pleased  thereat ;  for 
somehow  Charles,  from  the  time  he  brought  me  the  limes  to 

lOO 


L 


m,  a 

Kord 

his 

Ih  a 

)est 

to 

lich 

fov 

to 


AiVNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

make  a  bowl  of  punch,  in  his  pocket  from  Jamaica,  had 
built  a  nest  of  affection  in  my  heart.  But,  oh  !  the  wicked 
wastry  of  life  in  war.  In  less  than  a  month  after,  the  news 
came  of  a  victory  over  the  French  fleet,  and  by  the  same  post 
I  got  a  letter  from  Mr.  Howard,  that  was  the  midshipman 
who  came  to  see  us  with  Charles,  telling  me  that  poor  Charles 
had  been  mortally  wounded  in  the  action,  and  had  afterwards 
died  of  his  wounds.  ♦  He  was  a  hero  in  the  engagement, 
said  Mr.  Howard,  '  and  he  died  as  a  good  and  a  brave  man 
should.'  These  tidings  gave  me  one  of  the  sorest  hearts  I 
ever  suffered,  and  it  was  long  before  I  :ould  gather  fortitude 
to  disclose  the  tidings  to  poor  Charles's  mother.  But  the 
callants  of  the  school  had  heard  of  the  victory,  and  were  going 
shouting  about,  and  had  set  the  steeple  bell  a-ringing,  by 
which  Mrs.  Malcolm  heard  the  news  ;  and  knowing  that 
Charles's  ship  was  with  the  fleet,  she  came  over  to  the  manse 
in  great  anxiety,  to  hear  the  particulars,  somebody  lelling  her 
that  there  had  been  a  foreign  letter  to  me  by  the  postman. 

When  I  saw  her  I  could  not  speak,  but  looked  at  her  in 
pity,  and  the  tear  fleeing  up  into  my  eyes,  she  guessed  what 
had  happened.  After  giving  a  deep  and  sore  sigh,  she 
inquired,  *  How  did  he  behave  ?  I  hope  well,  for  he  was  aye  a 
gallant  laddie  ! ' — and  then  she  wept  very  bitterly.  However, 
growing  calmer,  I  read  to  her  the  letter,  and  when  I  had  done, 
she  begged  me  to  give  it  to  her  to  keep,  saying,  '  It's  all  that 
I  have  now  left  of  my  pretty  boy  ;  but  it's  mair  precious  to  me 
than  the  wealth  of  the  Indies' ;  and  she  begged  me  to  return 
thanks  to  the  Lord,  for  all  the  comforts  and  manifold  mercies 
with  which  her  lot  had  been  blessed,  since  the  hour  she  put 
her  trust  in  Him  alone,  and  that  was  when  she  was  left  a 
penniless  widow,  with  her  five  fatherless  bairns. 

It  was  just  an  edification  of  the  spirit,  to  see  the  Christian 
resignation  f  this  worthy  woman.  Mrs.  Balwhidder  was  con- 
founded, and  said,  there  was  more  sorrow  in  seeing  the  deep 
grief  of  her  fortitude  than  tongue  could  tell. 

Having  taken  a  glass  of  wine  with  her,  I  walked  out  to 
conduct  her  to  her  own  house,  but  in  the  way  we  met  with  a 
severe  trial.  All  the  weans  were  out  parading  with  napkins 
and  kail-blades  on  sticks,  rejoicing  and  triumphing  in  the  glad 
tidings  of  victory.  But  when  they  saw  me  and  Mrs.  Malcolm 
coming  slowly  along,  they  guessed  what  had  happened,  and 

lOI 


I: 

ii  ■■■  :■ 

V     i' 

,  Hi 


I  ■    ^■■ 


W 


ill 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


threw  away  their  banners  of  joy  ;  and,  standing  all  up  in  a 
row,  with  silence  and  sadness,  along  the  kirkyard  wall  as  we 
passed,  showed  an  instinct  of  compassion  that  penetrated  to 
my  very  soul.  The  poor  mother  burst  into  fresh  affliction, 
and  some  of  the  bairns  into  an  audible  weeping  ;  and,  taking 
one  another  by  the  hand,  they  fv  Uowed  us  to  her  door,  like 
mourners  at  a  funeral.  Never  was  such  a  sight  seen  in  any 
town  before.  The  neighbours  came  to  look  at  it,  as  we 
walked  along,  and  the  men  turned  aside  to  hide  their  faces, 
while  the  mothers  pressed  their  babies  fondlier  to  their  bosoms, 
and  watered  their  innocent  faces  with  their  tears. 

I  prepared  a  suitable  sermon,  taking  as  the  words  of  my 
text,  '  Howl,  ye  ships  of  Tarshish,  for  your  strength  is  laid 
waste.'  But  when  I  saw  around  me  so  many  of  my  people, 
clad  in  complimentary  mourning  for  the  gallant  Charles  Mal- 
colm, and  that  even  poor  daft  Jenny  Gafifaw,  and  her  daughter, 
had  on  an  old  black  ribbon  ;  and  when  I  thought  of  him,  the 
spirited  laddie,  coming  home  from  Jamaica,  with  his  parrct  on 
his  shoulder,  and  his  limes  for  me,  my  heart  filled  full,  and  I 
was  obliged  to  sit  down  in  the  pulpit,  and  drop  a  tear. 

After  a  pause,  and  the  Lord  having  vouchsafed  to  compose 
me,  I  rose  up,  and  gave  out  that  anthem  of  triumph,  the  124th 
Psalm  ;  the  singing  of  which  brought  the  congregation  round 
to  themselves  ;  but  still  I  felt  that  I  could  not  preach  as  I  had 
meant  to  do,  therefore  I  only  said  a  few  words  of  prayer,  and 
singing  another  psalm,  dismissed  the  congregation. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

Year  1783 
Janet  Gaffaw's  death  and  burial. 


This  was  another  Sabbath  year  of  my  ministry.  It  has  left 
me  nothing  to  record,  but  a  silent  increase  of  prosperity  in  the 
parish.  I  myself  had  now  in  the  bank  more  than  a  thousand 
pounds,  and  everything  was  thriving  around.  My  two  bairns, 
Gilbert,  that  is  now  the  merchant  in  Glasgow,  was  grown  into 
a  sturdy  ramplor  laddie,  and  Janet,  that  is  married  upon  Dr. 

102 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

Kittleword,  the  minister  of  Swappington,  was  as  fine  a  lassie 
for  her  years  as  the  eye  of  a  parent  could  desire  to  see. 

Shortly  after  the  news  of  the  peace,  an  event  at  which  all 
gave  themselves  up  to  joy,  a  thing  happened  among  us  that 
at  the  time  caused  much  talk  ;  but  although  very  dreadful, 
was  yet  not  so  serious,  somehow  or  other,  as  such  an  awsome 
doing  should  have  been.  Poor  Jenny  Gaffaw  h.appened  to 
take  a  heavy  cold,  and  soon  thereafter  died.  Meg  went  about 
from  house  to  house,  begging  dead-clothes,  and  got  the  body 
straighted  in  a  wonderful  decent  manner,  with  a  plate  of  earth 
and  salt  placed  upon  it — an  admonitory  type  of  mortality  and 
eternal  life  that  has  ill-advisedly  gone  out  of  fashion.  When 
I  heard  of  this,  I  could  not  but  go  to  see  how  a  creature  that 
was  not  thought  possessed  of  a  grain  of  understanding  could 
have  done  so  much  herself.  On  entering  the  door,  I  beheld 
Meg  sitting  with  two  or  three  of  the  neighbouring  kimmers, 
and  the  corpse  laid  out  on  a  bed.  '  Come  awa',  sir,'  said  Meg, 
'  this  is  an  altered  house  ;  they're  gane  that  keepit  it  bein  ; 
but,  sir,  we  maun  a'  come  to  this — we  maun  pay  the  debt  o* 
nature — death  is  a  grim  creditor,  and  a  doctor  but  brittle  bail 
when  the  hour  of  reckoning's  at  han'  I  What  a  pity  it  is, 
mother,  that  you're  now  dead,  for  here's  the  minister  come  to 
see  you.  Oh,  sir,  but  she  would  have  had  a  proud  heart  to  see 
you  in  her  dwelling,  for  she  had  a  genteel  turn,  and  would  not 
let  me,  her  only  daughter,  mess  or  mell  wi'  the  lathron  lasses 
of  the  clachan.  Ay,  ay,  she  brought  me  up  with  care,  and 
edicated  me  for  a  lady ;  nae  coarse  wark  darkened  my  lily- 
white  hands.  But  I  maun  work  now,  I  maun  dree  the  penalty 
of  man.' 

Having  stopped  some  time,  listening  to  the  curious 
maunnering  of  Meg,  I  rose  to  come  away,  but  she  laid  her 
hand  on  my  arm,  saying,  '  No,  sir,  ye  maun  taste  before  ye 
gang !  My  mother  had  aye  plenty  in  her  life,  nor  shall  her 
latter  day  be  needy.' 

Accordingly,  Meg,  with  all  the  due  formality  common  on 
such  occasions,  produced  a  bottle  of  water,  and  a  dram  glass, 
which  she  filled  and  tasted,  then  presented  to  me,  at  the  same 
time  offering  me  a  bit  of  bread  on  a  slate.  It  was  a  consterna- 
tion to  everybody  how  the  daft  creature  had  learnt  all  the 
ceremonies,  which  she  performed  in  a  manner  past  the  power 
of  pen  to  describe,  making  the  solemnity  of  death,  by  her 

103 


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'  JVii/i  all  the  dt^e  formality  common  on  such  occasions. 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

strange  mockery,  a  kind  of  merriment,  that  was  more  painful 
than  sorrow ;  but  some  spirits  are  gifted  with  a  faculty  of 
observation,  that,  by  the  strength  of  a  little  fancy,  enables 
them  to  make  a  wonderful  and  truth-like  semblance  of  things 
and  events  which  they  never  saw,  and  poor  Meg  seemed  to 
have  this  gift. 

The  same  night  the  Session  having  provided  a  coffin,  the 
body  was  put  in,  and  removed  to  Mr.  Mutchkin's  brew-house, 
where  the  lads  and  lassies  kept  the  late-wake. 

Saving  this,  the  year  flowed  in  a  calm,  and  wo  floated  on 
in  the  stream  of  time  towards  the  great  ocean  of  eternity,  like 
ducks  and  geese  in  the  river's  tide,  that  are  carried  down 
without  being  sensible  of  the  speed  of  the  current.  Alas  !  we 
have  not  wings  like  them,  to  fly  back  to  the  place  we  set  out 
from. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

Year  1784 


1 1 


u 


I  i-;< 


A  year  of  sunshine  and  pleasantness. 

I  HAVE  ever  thought  that  this  was  a  bright  year,  truly  an  Ann. 
Dom.,  for  in  it  many  of  the  lads  came  home  that  had  listed  to 
be  soldiers  ;  and  Mr.  Howard,  that  was  the  midshipman,  being 
now  a  captain  of  a  man-of-war,  came  down  from  England  and 
married  Effie  Malcolm,  and  took  her  up  with  him  to  London, 
where  she  wrote  to  her  mother,  that  she  found  his  family  people 
of  great  note,  and  more  kind  to  her  than  she  could  write.  By 
this  time,  also.  Major  Macadam  was  made  a  colonel,  and  lived 
with  his  lady  in  Edinburgh,  where  they  were  much  respected 
by  the  genteeler  classes,  Mrs.  Macadam  being  considered  a 
great  unco  among  them  for  all  manner  of  ladylike  ornaments, 
she  having  been  taught  every  sort  of  perfection  in  that  way  by 
the  old  lady,  who  was  educated  at  the  court  of  France,  and 
was,  from  her  birth,  a  person  of  quality.  In  this  year,  also, 
Captain  Malcolm,  her  brother,  married  a  daughter  of  a  Glasgow 
merchant,  so  that  Mrs.  Malcolm,  in  her  declining  years,  had 
the  prospect  of  a  bright  setting ;  but  nothing  could  change  the 

105 


11 


^' 


hi 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

sober  Christianity  of  her  settled  mind  ;  and  althou^di  she  was 
stron^dy  invited,  both  by  the  Macadams  and  the  Howards,  to 
see  their  feUcity,  she  ever  decHned  the  same,  saying — *  No  !  I 
have  been  long  out  of  the  world,  or  rather,  I  have  never  been 
in  it ;  my  ways  are  not  as  theirs  ;  and  although  I  ken  their 
hearts  would  be  glad  to  be  kind  to  me,  I  might  fash  their 
servants,  or  their  friends  might  think  me  unlike  other  folk,  by 
whicl.,  instead  of  causing  pleasure,  mortification  "Tiight  ensue  ; 
so  I  will  remain  in  my  own  house,  trusting  that  when  liiey  can 
spare  the  time,  they  will  come  and  see  me.' 

There  was  a  spirit  of  true  wisdom  in  this  resolution,  for  it 
required  a  forbearance  that  in  weaker  minds  would  have 
relaxed  ;  but  though  a  person  of  a  most  slendei*  and  delicate 
frame  of  body,  she  was  a  Judith  in  fortitude,  and  in  all  the 
fortune  that  seemed  now  smiling  upon  her,  she  never  was 
lifted  up,  but  bore  always  that  pale  and  meek  look,  which 
gave  a  saintliness  to  her  endeavours  in  the  days  of  her  suffering 
and  poverty. 

But  when  we  enjoy  most,  we  have  least  to  tell.  I  look 
back  on  this  year  as  on  a  sunny  spot  in  the  valley,  amidst  the 
shadows  of  the  clouds  of  time ;  ar  d  I  have  nothing  to  record, 
save  the  remembrance  of  welcumings  and  weddings,  and  a 
meeting  of  bairns  and  parents,  that  the  wars  and  the  waters 
had  long  raged  between.  Contentment  within  the  bosom  lent 
a  livelier  grace  to  the  countenance  of  Nature,  and  everybody 
said,  that  in  this  year  the  hedges  were  greener  than  common, 
the  govvans  brighter  on  the  brae,  and  the  heads  of  the  statelier 
trees  adorned  with  a  richer  coronal  of  leaves  and  blossoms. 
All  things  were  animated  with  the  gladness  of  thankfulness, 
and  testified  to  the  goodness  of  their  Maker. 


1 06 


ANNALS  or  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER    XXVI 
Vkar  1785 


:,t.l 


Mr.  Cayenne  comes  to  the  parish — A  passionate  character — 1 1  is  outrageous 
Ijehaviour  at  tlic  Session-house. 

Well  may  we  say,  in  the  pious  words  of  my  old  friend  and 
neighbour,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Keckie  of  Loupinton,  that  the 
world  is  such  a  wheel-carriage,  that  it  might  very  properly  be 
called  the  WHIRL'd.  This  reflection  was  brought  home  to  me 
in  a  very  striking  manner,  while  I  was  preparing  a  discourse 
for  my  people,  to  be  preached  on  the  anniversary  day  of  my 
placing,  in  which  I  took  a  view  of  what  had  passed  in  the 
parish  during  the  five-and-twenty  years  that  I  had  been,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  the  pastor  thereof.  The  bairns,  that  were 
bairns  when  I  came  among  my  people,  were  ripened  unto 
parents,  and  a  new  generation  was  swelling  in  the  bud  around 
me.  But  it  is  what  happened  that  I  Jiave  to  give  an  ac- 
count of. 

This  year  the  Lady  Macadam's  jointure -house  that  was, 
having  been  long  without  a  tenant,  a  Mr.  Cayenne  and  his 
family,  American  loyalists,  came  and  took  it,  and  settled 
among  us  for  a  time.  His  wife  was  a  clever  woman,  and  they 
had  two  daughters.  Miss  Virginia  and  Miss  Carolina ;  but  he 
was  himself  an  etter-cap,  a  perfect  spunkie  of  passion,  as  ever 
was  known  in  town  or  country.  His  wife  had  a  terrible  time 
o't  with  him,  and  yet  the  unhappy  man  had  a  great  share  of 
common  sense,  and,  saving  the  exploits  of  his  unmanageable 
temper,  was  an  honest  and  creditable  gentleman.  Of  his 
humour  we  soon  had  a  sample,  as  I  shall  relate  at  length  all 
about  it. 

Shortly  after  he  came  to  the  parish,  Mrs.  Balwhidder  and 
me  waited  upon  the  family,  to  pay  our  respects,  and  Mr. 
Cayenne,  in  a  free  and  hearty  manner,  insisted  on  us  staying 
to  dinner.  His  wife,  I  could  see,  was  not  satisfied  with  this, 
not  being,  as  I  discerned  afterwards,  prepared  to  give  an 
entertainment  to  strangers  ;  however,  we  fell  into  the  mis- 
fortune of  staying,  and  nothing  could  exceed  the  happiness  of 

107 


'  ( ■■- 


a?'* 


■i*  I 


Em 


ANNAJ.S  OF  THE  PARISH 


Mr.  Cayenne.  I  thought  him  one  of  the  blithest  bodies  I  had 
ever  seen,  and  had  no  notion  that  he  was  such  a  tap  of  tow  as 
in  the  sequel  he  proved  himself. 

As  there  was  someihing  extra  to  prepare,  the  dinner  was  a 
little  longer  of  being  on  the  table  than  usual,  at  which,  he 
began  to  fash,  and  every  now  and  then  took  a  turn  up  and 
down  the  room,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  giving  a  short 
melancholious  whistle.  At  length  the  dinner  was  served,  but 
it  was  more  scanty  than  he  had  expected,  and  this  upset  his 
good-humour  altogether.  Scarcely  had  I  asked  the  blessing 
when  he  began  to  storm  at  his  blackamoor  servant,  who  was, 
however,  used  to  his  way,  and  did  his  work  without  minding 
him ;  but  by  some  neglect  there  was  no  mustard  down,  which 
Mr.  Cayenne  called  for  in  the  voice  of  a  tempest,  and  one  of 
the  servant  lassies  came  in  with  the  pot,  trembling.  It 
happened  that,  as  it  had  not  been  used  for  a  day  or  two 
before,  the  lid  was  clagged,  and,  as  it  were,  glewed  in,  so  that 
Mr.  Cayenne  could  not  get  it  out,  which  put  him  quite  wud, 
and  he  attempted  tj  fling  it  at  '^'ambo,  the  black  lad's  head, 
but  it  stottit  against  the  wall,  and  the  lid  flying  open,  the 
whole  mustard  flew  in  his  own  face,  which  made  him  a  sight 
not  to  be  spoken  of.  However  it.  calmed  him ;  but  really,  as 
I  had  never  seen  such  a  man  before,  I  could  not  but  consider 
the  accident  as  a  providential  reproof,  and  trembled  to  think 
what  greater  evi'  might  fall  out  in  the  hands  of  a  man  so  left 
to  himself  in  the  intemperance  of  passion. 

But  the  worst  thing  about  Mr.  Cayenne  was  his  meddling 
with  matters  in  which  he  had  no  concern,  for  he  had  a  most 
irksome  nature,  and  could  not  be  at  rest,  so  that  he  was  truly 
a  thorn  in  our  side.  A.mong  other  of  his  strange  doings,  was 
the  part  he  took  in  the  proceedings  of  the  Session,  with  which 
he  hac'  as  little  tt  do,  in  a  manner,  as  the  man  in  the  moon  ; 
but  having  no  business  on  his  hands,  he  attended  eveiy 
sederunt,  and  from  I'jss  to  more,  h-iving  no  self-government, 
he  began  to  give  his  opinion  in  our  deliberations  ;  and  often 
bred  us  trouble,  by  causing  strife  to  arise. 

It  happened,  as  the  time  of  the  summer  occasion  was 
drawing  near,  that  it  behoved  us  to  make  arrangements  about 
the  assistance ;  and  upon  the  suggestion  of  the  elders,  to 
which  I  paid  always  the  greatest  deference,  I  invited  Mr. 
Keekie  of  Loupinton,  who  was  a  sound  preacher,  and  a  great 

1 08 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

expounder  of  the  kittle  parts  of  the  Old  Testament,  being  a 
man  well  versed  in  the  Hebrew  and  etymologies,  for  which  he 


,i; 


»     : 


i 


1. 1 


.    ! 


(  r>l 


^||. 


'  iWt'  attemf>ttd  to  fling  it  at  Sainho.' 


was  much  reverenced  by  the  old  people  tl'iat  delighted  to  search 
the  Scriptures.     I  had  also  written  to  Mr,  Sprose  of  Annock, 

109 


■Hi 


m 


i 


^i 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

a  preacher  of  another  sort,  being  a  vehement  and  powerful 
thresher  of  the  word,  making  the  chaff  and  vain  babbUng  of 
corrupt  commentators  to  flv  from  his  hand.  He  was  not, 
however,  so  well  liked,  as  he  wanted  that  connect  method 
which  is  needful  to  the  enforcing  of  doctrine.  But  he  had 
never  been  among  us,  and  it  was  thought  it  would  be  a  godly 
treat  to  the  parish  to  let  the  people  hear  him.  Besides  Mr. 
Sprose,  Mr.  Waikle  of  Gowanry,  a  quiet  hewer-out  of  the 
image  of  holiness  in  the  heart,  was  likewise  invited,  all  in 
addition  to  our  old  stoops  from  the  adjacent  parishes. 

None  of  these  three  preachers  were  in  any  estimation  with 
Mr.  Cayenne,  who  had  only  heard  each  of  them  once ;  and  he 
happening  to  be  present  in  the  Session -house  at  the  time, 
inquired  how  we  had  settled.  I  thought  this  not  a  very 
orderly  question,  but  I  gave  him  a  civil  answer,  saying,  that 
Mr.  Keekie  of  Loupinton  would  preach  on  the  morning  of  the 
fast-day,  Mr.  Sprose  of  Annock  in  the  afternoon,  and  Mr. 
Waikle  of  Gowanry  on  the  Saturday.  Never  shall  I  or  the 
elders,  while  the  breath  of  life  is  in  our  bodies,  forget  the 
reply.  Mr.  Cayenne  struck  the  table  like  a  clap  of  thunder, 
and  cried,  '  Mr.  Keekie  of  Loupinton,  and  Mr. '  Sprose  of 
Annock,  and  Mr.  Waikle  of  Gowanry,  and  all  such  trash,  may 

go  to  —  and  be ! '  and  out  of  the  house  he  bounced,  like 

a  hand-ball  stotting  on  a  stone. 

The  elders  and  me  were  confounded,  and  for  some  time 
we  could  not  speak,  but  looked  at  each  other,  doubtful  if  our 
cars  heard  aright.  At  long  and  length  I  came  to  myself,  and, 
in  the  strength  of  God,  took  my  place  at  the  table,  and  said, 
this  was  an  outrageous  impiety  not  to  be  borne,  which  all 
the  elders  agreed  to ;  and  we  thereupon  came  to  a  resolve, 
which  I  dictated  myself,  wherein  we  debarred  Mr.  Cayenne 
from  ever  after  entering,  unless  summoned,  the  Session-house, 
the  which  resolve  we  directed  the  Session-clerk  to  send  to  him 
direct,  and  thus  we  vindicated  the  insulted  privileges  of  the 
church. 

Mr.  Cayenne  had  cooled  before  he  got  home,  and  our 
paper  coming  to  him  in  his  appeased  blood,  he  immediately 
came  to  the  manse,  and  made  a  contrite  apology  for  his 
hasty  temper,  which  I  repotted,  in  due  time  and  form,  to  the 
Session,  and  there  the  matter  ended.  But  here  was  an 
example  plain  to  be  seen  of  the  truth  of  the  old  proverb, 

no 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

that  as  one  door  shuts  another  opens ;  for  scarcely  were  we 
in  quietness  by  the  decease  of  that  old  light-headed  woman, 
the  Lady  Macadam,  till  a  full  equivalent  for  her  was  given  in 
this  hot  and  fiery  Mr.  Cayenne. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


Year  1786 

Repairs  required  for  the  manse — By  the  sagacious  management  of  Mr. 
Kibbock,  the  heritors  are  made  to  give  a  new  manse  altogether — 
They  begin,  however,  to  loolc  upon  me  with  a  grudge,  which  pro- 
vokes me  to  claim  an  augmentation,  which  I  obtain. 

From  the  day  of  my  settlement,  I  had  resolved,  in  order  to 
win  the  affections  of  my  people,  and  to  promote  unison  among 
the  heritors,  to  be  of  as  little  expense  to  the  parish  as  possible  ; 
but  by  this  time  the  manse  had  fallen  into  a  sore  state  of 
decay — the  doors  were  wormed  on  the  hinges — the  casements 
of  the  windows  chattered  all  the  winter,  like  the  teeth  of  a 
person  perishing  with  cold,  so  that  we  had  no  comfort  in  the 
house  ;  by  which,  at  the  urgent  instigations  of  Mrs.  Balwhidder, 
I  was  obligated  to  represent  our  situation  to  the  Session.  I 
would  rather,  having  so  much  saved  money  in  the  bank,  paid 
the  needful  repairs  myself  than  have  done  this,  but  she  said 
it  would  be  a  rank  injustice  to  our  own  family ;  and  her 
father,  Mr.  Kibbock,  who  was  very  long-headed,  with  more 
than  a  common  man's  portion  of  understanding,  pointed  out 
to  me,  that  as  my  life  was  but  in  my  lip,  it  would  be  a  wrong 
thing  towards  whomsoever  was  ordained  to  be  my  successor, 
to  use  the  heritors  to  the  custom  of  the  minister  paying  for 
the  reparations  of  the  manse,  as  it  might  happen  he  might 
not  be  so  well  able  to  afford  it  as  me.  So  in  a  manner,  by 
their  persuasion,  and  the  constraint  of  the  justice  of  the  case, 
I  made  a  report  of  the  infirmities  both  of  doors  and  windows, 
as  well  as  of  the  rotten  state  of  the  floors,  which  were 
constantly  in  want  of  cobbling.  Over  and  above  all,  I  told 
them  of  the  sarking  of  the  roof,  which  was  as  frush  as  a 
puddock  stool ;  insomuch,  that  in  every  blast,  some  of  the 
pins  lost  their  grip,  and  the  slates  came  hurling  off. 

Ill 


.">' . 


'JT'I 


m 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


The  heritors  were  accordingly  convened,  and,  after  some 
deliberation,  they  proposed  that  the  house  should  be  seen  to, 
and  white-washed  and  painted ;  and  I  thought  this  might  do, 
for  I  saw  they  were  terrified  at  the  expense  of  a  thorough 
repair ;  but  when  I  went  home  and  repeated  to  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  what  had  been  said  at  the  meeting,  and  my 
thankfulness  at  getting  the  heritors'  consent  to  do  so  much, 
she  was  excessively  angry,  and  told  me  that  all  the  painting 
and  white-washing  in  the  world  would  avail  nothing,  for  that 
the  house  was  as  a  sepulchre  full  of  rottenness  ;  and  she  sent 
for  Mr.  Kibbock,  her  father,  to  confer  with  him  on  the  way 
of  getting  the  matter  put  to  rights. 

Mr.  Kibbock  came,  and  hearing  of  what  had  passed, 
pondered  for  some  time,  and  then  said,  *  All  was  very  right ! 
The  minister  (meaning  me)  has  just  to  get  tradesmen  to  look 
at  the  house,  and  write  out  their  opinion  of  what  it  needs. 
There  will  be  plaster  to  mend ;  so,  before  painting,  he  will 
get  a  plasterer.  There  will  be  a  slater  wanted ;  he  has  just 
to  get  a  slater's  estimaie,  and  a  wright's,  and  so  forth,  and 
when  all  is  done,  he  will  lay  them  before  the  Session  and  the 
heritors,  who,  no  doubt,  will  direct  the  reparations  to  go 
forward.' 

This  was  very  pawkie  counselling  of  Mr.  Kibbock,  and  I 
did  not  see  through  it  at  the  time,  but  did  as  he  recommended, 
and  took  all  the  different  estimates,  when  they  came  in,  to  the 
Session.  The  elders  commended  my  prudence  exceedingly 
for  so  doing,  before  going  to  work  ;  and  one  of  them  asked 
me  what  the  amount  of  the  whole  would  be,  but  I  had  not 
cast  it  up.  Some  of  the  heritors  thought  that  a  hundred 
pounds  would  be  sufficient  for  the  outlay,  but  judge  of  our 
consternation,  when,  in  counting  up  all  the  sums  of  the 
different  estimates  together,  we  found  them  well  on  towards 
a  thousand  pounds.  *  Better  big  a  new  house  at  once  than 
do  this ! '  cried  all  the  elders,  by  which  I  then  perceived  the 
draughtiness  of  Mr.  Kibbock's  advice.  Accordingly,  another 
meeting  of  the  heritors  was  summoned,  and  after  a  great  deal 
of  controversy,  it  was  agreed  that  a  new  manse  should  be 
erected ;  and,  shortly  after,  we  contracted  with  Thomas 
Trowel,  the  mason,  to  build  one  for  six  hundred  pounds,  with 
all  the  requisite  appurtenances,  by  which  a  clear  gain  was 
saved  to  the  parish,  by  the  foresight  of  Mr.  Kibbock,  to  the 

112 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


amount  of  nearly  four  hundred  pounds.  But  the  heritors  did 
not  mean  to  have  allowed  the  sort  of  repair  that  his  plan 
comprehended.  He  was,  however,,  a  far  forecasting  man,  the 
like  of  him  for  natural  parts  not  being  in  our  country-side, 
and  nobody  could  get  the  whip-hand  of  him,  either  in  a 
bargain  or  an  improvement,  when  he  once  was  sensible  of 
the  advantage.  He  was,  indeed,  a  blessing  to  the  shire, 
both  by  his  example  as  a  farmer,  and  by  his  sound  and 
discreet  advice  in  the  contentions  of  his  neighbours,  being 
a  man,  as  was  a  saying  among  the  commonality,  '  wiser  than 
the  law  and  the  fifteen  lords  of  Edinburgh.' 

The  building  of  the  new  manse  occasioned  a  heavy  cess  on 
the  heritors,  which  made  them  overly  ready  to  pick  holes  in 
the  coats  of  me  and  the  elders  ;  so  that,  out  of  my  forbearance 
and  delicacy  in  time  past,  grew  a  lordliness  on  their  part,  that 
was  an  ill  return  for  the  years  that  I  had  endured  no  little 
inconveniency  for  their  sake.  It  was  not  in  my  heart  or 
principles  to  harm  the  hair  of  a  dog ;  but  when  I  discerned 
the  austerity  with  which  they  were  disposed  to  treat  their 
minister,  I  bethought  me,  that,  for  the  preservation  of  what 
was  due  to  the  establishment  and  the  upholding  of  the  decent 
administration  of  religion,  I  ought  to  set  my  face  against  the 
sordid  intolerance  by  which  they  were  actuated.  This  notion 
I  weighed  well  before  divulging  it  to  any  person,  but  when  I 
had  assured  myself  as  to  the  rectitude  thereof,  I  rode  over  one 
day  to  Mr.  Kibbock's,  and  broke  my  mind  to  him  about 
claiming  out  of  the  teinds  an  augmentation  of  my  stipend, 
not  because  I  needed  it,  but  in  case,  after  me,  some  bare  and 
hungry  gorbie  of  the  Lord  should  be  sent  upon  the  parish,  in 
no  such  condition  to  plea  with  the  heritors  as  I  was,  Mr, 
Kibbock  highly  approved  of  my  intent,  and  by  his  help,  after 
much  tribulation,  I  got  an  augmentation,  both  in  glebe  and 
income ;  and  to  mark  my  reason  for  what  I  did,  I  touk  upon 
me  to  keep  and  clothe  the  wives  and  orphans  of  the  parish 
who  lost  their  breadwinners  in  the  American  war.  But  for 
all  that,  the  heritors  spoke  of  me  as  an  avaricious  Jew,  and 
made  the  hard-won  fruits  of  Mrs.  Balwhidder's  great  thrift 
and  good  management  a  matter  of  reproach  against  me.  Few 
of  them  would  come  to  the  church,  but  stayed  away,  to  the 
detriment  of  their  own  souls  hereafter,  in  order,  as  they 
thought,  to  punish  me ;  so  that,  in  the  course  of  this  year 

«  113 


1, 

ti 

!  , 


-if 

1  ITt' 

m 


<|ii|j 


■'^1 


;  11 
Ti5 


.!     SI 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

there  was  a  visible  decay  of  the  sense  of  religion  among  the 
better  orders  of  the  parish,  and,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  sequel, 
their  evil  example  infected  the  minds  of  many  of  the  rising 
generation. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  Mr.  Cayenne  bought  the  mailing 
of  the  Wheatrigs,  but  did  not  begin  to  build  his  house  till  the 
following  spring ;  for  being  ill  to  please  with  a  plan,  he  iell 
out  with  the  builders,  and  on  one  occasion  got  into  such  a 
passion  with  Mr.  Trowel,  the  mason,  that  he  struck  him  a  blow 
in  the  face,  for  which  he  was  obligated  to  make  atonement. 
It  was  thought  the  matter  would  have  been  carried  before  the 
Lords ;  but,  by  the  mediation  of  Mr.  Kibbock,  with  my 
helping  hand,  a  reconciliation  was  brought  about,  Mr.  Cayenne 
indemnifying  the  masor  with  a  sum  of  money  to  say  no  more 
anent  it  ;  after  which,  he  employed  him  to  build  his  house,  a 
thing  that  no  man  could  have  thought  possible,  who  reflected 
on  the  enmity  between  them. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

Year  1787 

Lady  Macadam's  house  is  changed  into  an  inn — The  making  of  jelly 
becomes  common  in  the  parish — Meg  Gaifaw  is  present  at  a  pajmient 
of  victual — Her  behaviour. 


There  had  been,  as  I  have  frequently  observed,  a  visible 
improvement  going  on  in  the  parish.  From  the  time  of  the 
making  of  the  toll-road,  every  new  house  that  was  built  in  the 
clachan  was  built  along  that  road.  Among  other  changes 
thereby  caused,  the  Lady  Macadam's  jointure-house  that  was, 
which  stood  in  a  pleasant  parterre,  inclosed  within  a  stones 
wall  and  an  iron  gate,  having  a  pillar  with  a  pine-apple  heac! 
on  each  side,  came  to  be  in  the  middle  of  the  town.  While 
Mr.  Cayenne  inhabited  the  same,  it  was  maintained  in  good 
order,  but  on  his  flitting  to  his  own  new  house  on  the 
Wheatrigs,  the  parterre  was  soon  overnin  with  weeds,  aad  it 
began  to  wear  the  look  of  a  waste  place.  Robert  Toddy,  who 
then  kept  the  change-house,  and  who  had  from  the  lady's 
death  rented  the  coach-house   for  stabling,  in  this  juncture 

114 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


thought  of  it  for  an  inn  ;  so  he  set  his  own  house  to  Thomas 
Treddles,  the  weaver,  whose  son,  William,  is  now  the  great 
Glasgow  manufacturer,  that  has  cotton  mills  and  steam- 
engines  ;  and  took  *  the  Place,'  as  it  was  called,  and  had  a 
fine  sign,  The  Cross  Keys,  painted  and  put  up  in  golden 
characters,  by  which  it  became  one  of  the  most  noted  inns 
anywhere  to  be  seen  ;  and  the  civility  of  Mrs.  Toddy  was 
commended  by  all  strangers.  But  although  this  transmutation 
from  a  change-house  to  an  inn  was  a  vast  amendment,  in  a 
manner,  to  the  parish,  there  was  little  am'^idment  of  manners 
thereby,  for  the  farmer  lads  began  to  hold  dancings  and  other 
riotous  proceedings  there,  and  to  bring,  as  it  were,  the  evil 
practices  of  towns  into  the  heart  of  the  country.  All  sort  of 
licence  was  allowed  as  to  drink  and  hours,  and  the  edifying 
example  of  Mr.  Mutchkins,  and  his  pious  family,  was  no 
longer  held  up  to  the  imitation  of  the  wayfaring  man. 

Saving  the  mutation  of  '  the  Place '  into  an  inn,  nothing 
very  remarkable  happened  in  this  year.  We  got  into  our  new 
manse  about  the  middle  of  March,  but  it  was  rather  damp, 
being  new  plastered,  and  it  caused  me  to  have  a  severe  attack 
of  the  rheumatics  in  the  fall  of  the  year. 

I  should  not,  in  my  notations,  forget  to  mark  a  new  luxury 
that  got  in  among  the  commonality  at  this  time.  By  the 
opening  of  new  roads,  and  the  traffic  thereon  with  carts  and 
carriers,  and  by  our  young  men  that  were  sailors  going  to  the 
Clyde,  and  sailing  to  Jamaica  and  the  West  Indies,  heaps  of 
sugar  and  coffee-beans  were  brought  home,  while  many,  among 
the  kail-stocks  and  cabbages  in  their  yards,  had  planted  grozet 
and  berry  bushes  ;  which  two  things  happening  together,  the 
fashion  to  make  jam  and  jelly,  which  hitherto  had  been  only 
known  in  the  kitchens  and  confectionaries  of  the  gentry,  came 
to  be  introduced  into  the  clachan.  All  this,  however,  was  not 
without  a  plausible  pretext,  for  it  was  found  that  jelly  was  an 
excellent  medicine  for  a  sore  throat,  and  jam  a  remedy  as  good 
as  London  candy  for  a  cough,  or  a  cold,  or  a  shortness  of 
breath.  I  could  not,  however^  say,  that  this  gave  me  so  much 
concern  as  the  smuggling  trade,  only  it  occasioned  a  great 
fasherie  to  Mrs.  Balwhidder ;  for,  in  the  berry  time,  there  was 
no  end  to  the  borrowing  of  her  brass  pan,  to  make  jelly  and 
jam,  till  Mrs.  Toddy,  of  the  Cross  Keys,  bought  one,  which,  in 
its  turn,  came  into  request,  and  saved  ours. 

"5 


«.i 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

It  was  in  the  Martinmas  quarter  of  this  year  that  I  got  the 
first  payment  of  my  augmentation.  Having  no  desire  to  rip 
up  old  son  3,  I  shall  say  no  more  anent  it,  the  worst  being 
anticipated  in  my  chronicle  of  the  last  year ;  but  there  was  a 
thing  happened  in  the  payment  that  occasioned  a  vexation  at 
the  time  of  a  very  disagreeable  nature.  Daft  Meg  Gaffaw, 
who,  from  the  tragical  death  of  her  mother,  was  a  privileged 
subject,  used  to  come  to  the  manse  on  the  Saturdays  for  a  meal 
of  meat ;  and  it  so  fell  out,  that  as,  by  some  neglect  of  mine,  no 
steps  had  been  taken  to  regulate  the  disposal  of  the  victual 
that  constituted  the  means  of  the  augmentation,  some  of  the 
heritors,  in  an  ungracious  temper,  sent  what  they  called  the 
tythe-boU  (the  Lord  knows  it  was  not  the  fiftieth)  to  the  manse, 
where  I  had  no  place  to  put  it.  This  fell  out  on  a  Saturday 
night,  when  I  was  busy  with  my  sermon,  thinking  not  of  silver 
or  gold,  but  of  much  better ;  so  that  I  was  greatly  molested 
and  disturbed  thereby.  Daft  Meg,  who  sat  by  the  kitchen 
chimlay-lug  hearing  a',  said  nothing  for  a  time,  but  when  she 
saw  how  Mrs.  Balwhidder  and  me  were  put  to,  she  cried  out 
with  a  loud  voice,  like  a  soul  under  the  inspiration  of  prophecy — 
'When  the  widow's  creuse  had  filled  all  the  vessels  in  the 
house,  the  Lord  stopped  the  increase ;  verily,  verily,  I  say 
unto  you,  if  your  barns  be  filled,  and  your  girnel-kists  can 
hold  no  more,  seek  till  ye  shall  find  the  tume  basins  of  the 
poor,  and  therein  pour  the  corn,  and  the  oil,  and  the  wine  of 
your  abundance ;  so  shall  ye  be  blessed  of  the  Lord.'  The 
which  words  I  took  for  an  admonition,  and  directing  the  sacks 
to  be  brought  into  the  dining-room,  and  other  chambers  of 
the  manse,  I  sent  off  the  heritors'  servants,  that  had  done  me 
this  prejudice,  with  an  unexpected  thankfulness.  But  this,  as 
I  afterwards  was  informed,  both  them  and  their  masters 
attributed  to  the  greedy  grasp  of  avarice,  with  which  they 
considered  me  as  misled ;  and  having  said  so,  nothing  could 
exceed  their  mortification  on  Monday,  when  they  heard  (for 
they  were  of  those  who  had  deserted  the  kirk)  that  I  had 
given  by  the  precentor  notice  to  every  widow  in  the  parish 
that  was  in  need,  to  come  to  the  manse,  and  she  would  receive 
her  portion  of  the  partitioning  of  the  augmentation.  Thus, 
without  any  offence  on  my  part,  saving  the  strictness  of  justice, 
was  a  division  made  between  me  and  the  heritors ;  but  the 
people  were  with  me ;  and  my  own  conscience  was  with  me, 

ii6 


.1. 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

and  though  the  fronts  of  the  lofts  and  the  pews  of  the  heritors 
were  but  thinly  filled,  I  trusted  that  a  good  time  was  coming, 
when  the  gentry  would  see  the  error  of  their  way.  So  I  lient 
the  head  of  resignation  to  the  Lord,  and,  assisted  by  the 
wisdom  of  Mr.  Kibbock,  adhered  to  the  course  I  had  adopted  ; 
but  at  the  close  of  the  year,  my  heart  was  sorrowful  for  the 
schism,  and  my  prayer  on  Hogmanay  was  one  of  great 
bitterness  of  soul,  that  such  an  evil  had  come  to  pass. 


'1 


I 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Year  1788 

A  cotton-mill  is  built — The  new  spirit  which  it  introduces  among 

the  people. 

It  had  been  often  remarked  by  ingenious  men,  that  the  Brawl 
burn,  which  ran  through  the  parish,  though  a  small,  was  yet 
a  rapid  stream,  and  had  a  wonderful  capability  for  damming, 
and  to  turn  mills.  From  the  time  that  the  Irville  water 
deserted  its  channel  this  brook  grew  into  repute,  and  several 
mills  and  dams  had  been  erected  on  its  course.  In  this  year 
a  proposal  came  from  Glasgow  to  build  a  cotton-mill  on  its 
banks,  beneath  the  Witch-linn,  which  being  on  a  corner  of  the 
Wheatrig,  the  property  of  Mr.  Cayenne,  he  not  only  consented 
thereto,  but  took  a  part  in  the  profit  or  loss  therein  ;  and, 
being  a  man  of  great  activity,  though  we  thought  him,  for 
many  a  day,  a  serpent  plague  sent  upon  the  parish,  he  proved 
thereby  one  of  our  greatest  benefactors.  The  cotton-mill  was 
built,  and  a  spacious  fabric  it  was — nothing  like  it  had  been 
seen  before  in  our  day  and  generation — and,  for  the  people 
that  were  brought  to  work  in  it,  a  new  town  was  built  in  the 
vicinity,  which  Mr.  Cayenne,  the  same  being  founded  on  his 
land,  called  Cayenneville,  the  name  of  the  plantation  in 
Virginia  that  had  been  taken  from  him  by  the  r^jellious 
Americans.  From  that  day  Fortune  was  lavish  of  her  favours 
upon  him ;  his  property  swelled,  and  grew  in  the  most 
extraordinary  manner,  and  the  whole  country-side  was  stirring 
with  a  new  life.     For,  when  the  mill  was  set  agoing,  he  got 

117 


I 


I 


^1 


m 


1.1: 


i  ■  'lit 


III 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


i 


!      I 


weavers  of  muslin  established  in  Cayenneville  ;  and  shortly 
after,  but  that  did  not  take  place  till  the  year  following,  he 
brought  women  all  the  way  froni  the  neighbourhood  of 
Manchester  in  England,  to  teach  the  lassie  bairns  in  our  old 
clachan  tamlwuring. 

Some  of  the  ancient  families,  in  their  turreted  houses,  were 
not  pleased  with  this  innovation,  especially  when  they  saw  the 
handsome  dwellings  that  were  built  for  the  weavers  of  the 
mills,  and  the  unstinted  hand  that  supplied  the  wealth  required 
for  the  carr>'ing  on  of  the  business.  It  sank  their  pride  into 
insignificance,  and  many  of  them  would  almost  rather  have 
wanted  the  rise  that  took  place  in  the  value  of  their  lands, 
than  have  seen  this  incoming  of  what  they  called  o'er-sea 
speculation.  But,  saving  the  building  of  the  cotton-mill,  and 
the  beginning  of  Cayenneville,  nothing  more  memorable 
happened  in  this  year,  still  it  was  nevertheless  a  year  of  a  great 
activity.  The  minds  of  men  were  excited  to  new  enterprises  ; 
a  new  genius,  as  it  were,  had  descended  upon  the  earth,  and 
there  was  an  erect  and  outlooking  spirit  abroad  that  was  not 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  taciturn  regularity  of  ancient  affairs. 
Even  Miss  Sabrina  Hookie,  the  schoolmistress,  though  now 
waned  from  her  meridian,  was  touched  with  the  enlivening 
rod,  and  set  herself  to  learn  and  to  teach  tambouring,  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  supersede  by  precept  and  example  that  old 
time-honoured  functionary,  as  she  herself  called  it,  the 
spinning-wheel,  proving,  as  she  did  one  night,  to  Mr.  Kibbock 
and  me,  that,  if  more  money  could  be  made  by  a  woman 
tambouring  than  by  spinning,  it  was  better  for  her  to  tambour 
than  to  spin. 

But,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  commercing  and  manufacturing, 
I  began  to  discover  signs  of  decay  in  the  wonted  simplicity 
of  our  country  ways.  Among  the  cotton-spinners  and  muslin- 
weavers  of  Cayenneville,  were  several  unsatisfied  and  ambi- 
tious spirits,  who  clubbed  together,  and  got  a  London  news- 
paper to  the  Cross  Keys,  where  they  were  nightly  in  the  habit 
of  meeting  and  debating  about  the  affairs  of  the  French,  which 
were  then  gathering  towards  a  head.  They  were  represented 
to  me  as  lads  by  common  in  capacity,  but  with  unsettled  notions 
of  religion.  They  were,  however,  quiet  and  orderly,  and  some 
of  them  since,  at  Glasgow,  Paisley,  and  Manchester,  even,  I 
am  told,  in  London,  have  grown  into  a  topping  way. 

ii8 


i     ) 


<  i   1 


t  '"1 


c^e/fe^ 


'Debating-  about  the  affairs  of  the  Freticlu 
Copyrieht  i8<;s  ty  Macmillan  O-  Co, 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

It  seems  they  did  not  like  my  manner  of  preaching,  and  on 
that  account  absented  ihei.. selves  from  public  worship  ;  which, 
when  I  heard,  I  sent  for  some  of  them,  to  convince  them  of 
their  error  with  regard  to  the  truth  of  divers  points  of  doctrine  ; 
but  they  confounded  me  with  their  objections,  and  used  my 
arguments,  which  were  the  old  and  orthodox  proven  opinions 
of  the  Divinity  Hall,  as  if  they  had  been  the  light  sayings  of 
a  vain  man.  So  that  I  was  troubled,  fearing  that  some  change 
would  ensue  to  my  people,  who  had  hitherto  lived  amidst  the 
boughs  and  branches  of  the  gospel  unmolested  by  the  fowler's 
snare,  and  I  set  myself  to  watch  narrowly,  and  with  a  vigilant 
eye,  what  would  come  to  pass. 

There  was  a  visible  increase  among  us  of  worldly  prosperity 
in  the  course  of  this  year  ;  insomuch,  that  some  of  the  farmers, 
who  were  in  the  custom  of  taking  their  vendibles  to  the 
neighbouring  towns  on  the  Tuesdays,  the  Wednesdays,  and 
Fridays,  were  led  to  open  a  market  on  the  Saturdays  in  our 
own  clachan,  the  which  proved  a  great  convenience.  But  I 
cannot  take  it  upon  me  to  say  whether  this  can  be  said  to  have 
well  begun  in  the  present  Ann.  Dom.,  although  I  know  that 
in  the  summer  of  the  ensuing  year  it  was  grown  into  a  settled 
custom  ;  which  I  well  recollect  by  the  Macadams  coming  with 
their  bairns  to  see  Mrs.  Malcolm  their  mother  suddenly  on 
a  Saturday  afternoon  ;  on  which  occasion  me  and  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  were  invited  to  dine  with  them,  and  Mrs.  Malcolm 
bought  in  the  market  for  the  dinner  that  day  both  mutton  and 
fowls,  such  as  twenty  years  before  could  not  have  been  got  for 
love  or  money  on  such  a  pinch.  Besides,  she  had  two  bottles 
of  red  and  white  wine  from  the  Cross  Keys,  luxuries  which, 
saving  in  the  Breadland  House  in  it  best  days,  could  not 
have  been  had  in  the  whole  parish,  but  must  have  been 
brought  from  a  borough  town  ;  for  Eglesham  Castle  is  not 
within  the  bounds  of  Dalmailing,  and  my  observe  does  not 
apply  to  the  stock  and  stores  of  that  honourable  mansion,  but 
only  to  the  dwellings  of  our  own  heritors,  who  were  in  general 
straitened  in  their  circumstances,  partly  with  upsetting,  and 
partly  by  the  eating  rust  of  family  pride,  which  hurt  the  edge 
of  many  a  clever  fellow  among  them,  that  would  have  done 
well  in  the  way  of  trade,  but  sunk  into  divors  for  the  sake  of 
their  genteelity. 


1 20 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER   XXX 
Year  1789 


K 


William  Malcolm  comes  to  the  parish  and  preaches — The  opinions 

upon  his  sermon. 

Tins  I  have  always  reflected  upon  as  one  of  our  blessed  years. 
It  was  not  remarkable  for  any  extraordinary  occurrence,  but 
there  was  a  hopefulness  in  the  minds  of  men,  and  a  planning 
of  new  undertakings,  of  which,  whatever  may  be  the  upshot, 
the  devising  is  ever  rich  in  the  cheerful  anticipations  of  good. 

Another  new  line  of  road  was  planned,  for  a  shorter  cut  to 
the  cotton-mill,  from  the  main  road  to  Glasgow,  and  a  public- 
house  was  opened  in  Cayenncvillc ;  the  latter,  however,  was 
not  an  •'v^nt  that  gave  me  much  satisfaction,  but  it  was  a 
convenience  to  the  inhabitants,  and  the  carriers  that  brought 
the  cotton-bags  and  took  away  the  yarn  twice  a  week,  needed 
a  place  of  refreshment.  And  there  was  a  stage-coach  set  up 
thrice  every  week  from  Ayr,  that  passed  through  the  town,  by 
which  it  was  possible  to  travel  to  Glasgow  between  breakfast 
and  dinner  time,  a  thing  that  could  not,  when  I  came  to  the 
parish,  have  been  thought  within  the  compass  of  man. 

This  stage-coach  I  thought  one  of  the  greatest  conveniences 
that  had  been  established  among  us ;  and  it  enabled  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  to  send  a  basket  of  her  fresh  butter  into  the 
Glasgow  market,  by  which,  in  the  spring  and  the  fall  of  the 
year,  she  got  a  great  price,  for  the  Glasgow  merchants  are  fond 
of  excellent  eatables,  and  the  payment  was  aye  ready  money — 
Tam  Whirlit  the  driver  paying  for  the  one  basket  when  he 
took  up  the  other. 

In  this  year  William  Malcolm,  the  youngest  son  of  the 
widow,  having  been  some  time  a  tutor  in  a  family  in  the  east 
country,  came  to  see  his  mother,  as  indeed  he  had  done  every 
year  from  the  time  he  went  to  the  College,  but  this  occasion 
was  made  remarkable  by  his  preaching  in  my  pulpit.  His  old 
acquaintance  were  curious  to  hear  him,  and  I  myself  had  a 
sort  of  a  wish  likewise,  being  desirous  to  know  how  far  he  was 
orthodox  ;  so  I  thought  fit,  on  the  suggestion  of  one  of  the 

121 


im^ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


elders,  to  ask  him  to  preach  one  day  for  me,  which,  after  some 
fleeching,  he  consented  to  do.  I  think,  however,  there  was  a 
true  modesty  in  his  diffidence,  although  his  reason  was  a  weak 
one,  being  lest  he  might  not  satisfy  his  mother,  who  had  as 
yet  never  heard  him.  Accordingly,  on  the  Sabbath  after,  he 
did  preach,  and  the  kirk  was  well  packed,  and  I  was  not  one 
of  the  least  attentive  of  the  congregation.  His  sermon 
assuredly  was  well  put  together,  and  there  was  nothing  to 
object  to  in  his  doctrine  ;  but  the  elderly  people  thought  his 
language  rather  too  Englified,  which  I  thought  likevise,  for  I 
never  could  abide  that  the  plain  auld  Kirk  of  Scotland,  v.jth 
her  sober  presbyterian  simplicity,  should  borrow,  either  in 
word  or  in  deed,  from  the  language  of  the  prelatic  hierarchy 
of  England.  Nevertheless,  the  younger  part  of  the  congrega- 
■Jon  were  loud  in  his  pra::e,  saying,  there  had  not  been  heard 
before  such  a  style  of  language  in  our  side  of  the  country.  As 
for  Mrs.  Malcolm,  his  mother,  when  I  spoke  to  her  anent  the 
same,  she  said  but  little,  expressing  only  her  hope  that  his 
example  would  be  worthy  of  his  precepts  ;  so  that,  upon  the 
whole,  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  us  all  that  he  was  likely  to  prove 
a  stoop  and  upholding  pillar  to  the  Kirk  of  Scotland.  And 
his  mother  had  the  satisfaction,  before  she  died,  to  see  him  a 
placed  minister,  and  his  name  among  the  authors  of  his 
country ;  for  he  published  at  Edinburgh  a  volume  of  Moral 
Essays,  of  which  he  sent  me  a  pretty  bound  copy,  and  they 
were  greatly  creditable  to  his  pen,  though  lackinj^  somewhat 
of  that  birr  and  s>meddum  that  is  the  juice  and  flavour  of 
books  of  that  sort. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 
Year  1790 

A  bookseller's  shop  is  set  up  among  the  houses  of  the  weavers 

at  Cayennevjlle. 

The  features  of  this  Ann.  Dom.  partook  of  the  character  of 
its  predecessor.  Several  new  houses  were  added  to  the 
clachan  ;  Cayenneville  was  spreading  out  with  weavers'  shops, 
and  growing  up  fast  into  a  town.     In  some  respects  it  got  the 

122 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

start  of  ours,  for  one  day,  when  I  was  going  to  dine  with  Mr. 
Cayenne,  at  Wheatrig  House,  not  a  little  to  my  amazement, 
did  I  behold  a  bookseller's  shop  opened  there,  with  sticks  of 
red  and  black  wax,  poun<~f't-boxes,  pens,  pocket-books,  and 
new  publications,  in  the  window,  such  as  the  like  of  was  only 
to  be  seen  in  cities  and  borough  towns.  And  it  was  lighted  at 
night  by  a  patent  lamp,  which  shed  a  wonderful  beam,  burning 
oil,  and  having  no  smoke.  The  man  sold  likewise  perfumery, 
powder-puffs,  trinkets,  and  Dublin  dolls,  besides  penknives, 
Castile  soap,  and  walking-sticks,  together  with  a  prodigy  of 
other  luxuries  too  tedious  to  mention. 

Upon  conversing  with  the  man,  for  I  was  enchanted  to  go 
into  this  phenomenon,  for  as  no  less  could  I  regard  it,  he  told 
me  that  he  had  a  correspondence  with  London,  and  could  get 
me  down  any  book  published  there  within  the  same  month  in 
which  it  came  out,  and  he  showed  me  diver  of  the  newest 
come  out,  of  which  I  did  not  read  even  in  the  Scots  Magazine^ 
till  more  than  three  months  after,  although  I  had  till  then 
always  considered  that  work  as  most  interesting  for  its 
early  intelligence.  But  what  I  was  most  surprised  to  hear, 
was  that  he  took  in  a  daily  London  newspaper  for  the  spinners 
and  weavers,  who  paid  him  a  penny  a  week  apiece  for  the 
same ;  they  being  all  greatly  iaken  up  with  what,  at  the  time, 
was  going  on  in  France. 

This  bookseller  in  the  end,  however,  proved  a  whawp  in 
our  nest,  for  he  was  in  league  with  some  of  the  English 
reformers,  and  when  the  story  took  wind  three  years  after, 
concerning  the  plots  and  treasons  of  the  Corresponding 
Societies  and  democrats,  he  v.  as  fain  to  make  a  moonlight 
flitting,  leaving  his  wife  for  a  time  to  manage  his  affairs.  I 
could  not,  however,  think  any  ill  of  the  man  notwithstanding  ; 
for  he  had  very  correct  notions  of  right  and  justice,  in  a 
political  sense,  and  when  he  came  into  the  parish  he  w.is  as 
orderly  and  well-behaved  as  any  other  body  ;  and  conduct  is  a 
test  that  I  have  always  found  as  good  for  a  man's  principles 
as  professions.  Nor,  at  the  tiirte  of  which  I  am  speaking,  was 
there  any  of  that  dread  oi  fear  of  reforming'  *.lic  government  that 
has  since  been  occasioned  by  the  wild  and  wasteful  hand 
which  the  French  employed  in  th^ir  Kevdution. 

But,  among  other  improvement »,  I  should  mention  that 
a  Dr.  Marigold  came  and  settled  >o  Cayenneville,  a  small, 

123 


V  U- 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


i     u 


il   I 

i 


round,  happy-tempered  man,  whose  funny  stories  were  far 
better  liked  than  his  drugs.  There  was  a  doubt  among  some 
of  the  weavers  if  he  was  a  skilful  Esculapian,  and  this  doubt 
led  to  their  holding  out  an  inducement  to  another  medical 
man,  Dr.  Tanzey,  to  settle  there  likewise,  by  which  it  grew 
into  a  saying,  that  at  Cayenneville  there  was  a  doctor  for 
health  as  well  as  sickness.  For  Dr.  Marigold  was  one  of  the 
best  hands  in  the  country  at  a  pleasant  punch-bowl,  while  Dr. 
Tanzey  had  all  the  requisite  knowledge  of  the  faculty  for  the 
bedside. 

It  was  in  this  year,  that  the  hour-plate  and  hand  on  the 
kirk-steeple  were  renewed,  as  indeed  may  yet  be  seen  by  the 
date,  though  it  be  again  greatly  in  want  of  fresh  gilding  ;  for 
it  was  by  my  advice  that  the  figures  of  the  Ann.  Dom.  were 
placed  one  in  each  corner.  In  this  year,  likewise,  the  bridge 
over  the  Brawl  bum  was  built,  a  great  convenience,  in  the 
winter  time,  to  the  parishioners  that  lived  on  the  north  side  ; 
for  when  there  happened  1  j  be  a  speat  on  the  Sunday,  it  kept 
them  from  the  kirk,  but  I  did  not  find  that  the  bridge  mended 
the  matter,  till  after  the  conclusion  of  the  war  against  the 
democrats,  and  the  beginning  of  that  which  we  are  now  waging 
with  Boney,  their  child  and  champion.  It  is,  indeed,  wonder- 
ful to  think  of  the  occultation  of  grace  that  was  taking  place 
about  this  time,  throughout  the  whole  bound  of  Christendom  ; 
for  I  could  mark  a  visible  darkness  of  infidelity  spreading  in 
the  corner  of  the  vineyard  committed  to  my  keeping,  and  a 
falling  away  of  the  vines  from  their  wonted  props  and  confi- 
dence in  the  truths  of  Revelationu  But  I  said  nothing.  I 
knew  that  the  faith  could  not  be  lost,  and  that  it  would  be 
found  purer  and  purer  the  more  it  was  tried  ;  and  this  I  have 
lived  to  see,  many  now  being  zealous  members  of  the  church, 
that  were  abundantly  lukewarm  at  the  period  of  which  I  am 
now  speaking. 


124 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PAKISII 


CHAPTER   XXXII 


Year  1791 

F  place  my  son  Gilbert  in  a  counting-house  at  Glasgow — My  observations 
on  Glasgow — On  my  return  1  preach  against  the  vanity  of  riches,  and 
begin  to  be  taken  for  a  black-neb. 

In  the  spring  of  this  year,  I  took  my  son  Gilbert  into  Glasgow, 
to  place  him  in  a  counting-house.  As  he  had  no  inclination 
for  any  of  the  learned  professions,  and  not  having  been  there 
from  the  time  when  I  was  sent  to  the  (ieneral  Assembly,  I 
cannot  express  my  astonishment  at  the  great  improvements, 
surpassing  far  ;ill  that  was  done  in  our  part  of  the  country, 
which  I  though  as  not  to  be  paralleled.  When  I  came 
afterwards  to  reflect  on  my  simplicity  in  this,  it  was  clear  to 
me  that  we  should  not  judge  of  the  rest  of  the  world  by  what 
we  see  going  on  around  ourselves,  but  walk  abroad  into  other 
parts,  and  thereby  enlarge  our  sphere  of  observation,  as  well 
as  ripen  our  judgment  of  things. 

But  although  there  was  no  doubt  a  great  and  visible 
increase  of  the  city,  loftier  Ijuildings  on  all  bides,  and  streets 
that  spread  their  arms  far  into  the  embraces  of  the  country,  I 
thought  the  looks  of  the  population  were  impaired,  and  that 
there  was  a  greater  proportion  of  long  white  fares  in  the 
Trongate,  than  when  I  attended  the  Divinity  class.  These,  I 
was  told,  were  the  weavers  and  others  concerned  in  the  cotton 
trade,  which  I  could  well  believe,  for  they  were  very  like  in 
their  looks  to  the  men  of  Cayenneville  ;  but  from  living  in  a 
crowded  town,  a  \d  not  breathing  a  wholesome  country  air 
between  their  tasks,  they  had  a  stronger  cast  of  unhealthy 
melancholy.  I  was,  therefi^  very  glad  that  Providence  had 
placed  in  my  hand  the  pastoral  staff  of  a  country  parish,  for  it 
cut  me  to  the  heart  to  see  so  many  young  men,  m  the  rising 
prime  of  life,  already  in  the  arms  of  a  aale  consumption.  '  If, 
therefore,  said  I  to  Mrs.  Balwhidder.  when  I  returned  home 
to  the  manse,  'wc  live,  as  it  were,  widiin  the  narrow  circle  of 
ignorance,  we  are  spared  from  the  p2.in  of  knowing  many  an 
evil ;  and,  surely,  in  much  knowkcige;  tbctre  is  sadness  of 
heart.' 

"5 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

But  the  main  effect  of  this  was  to  make  me  do  all  in  my 
power  to  keep  my  people  contented  with  their  lowly  estate ; 
for  in  that  same  spirit  of  improvement,  which  was  so  busy 
everywhere,  I  could  discern  something  like  a  shadow,  that 
showed  it  was  not  altogether  of  that  pure  advantage,  which 
avarice  led  all  so  eagerly  to  believe.  Accordingly,  I  began 
a  series  of  sermons  on  the  evil  and  vanity  of  riches,  and, 
for  the  most  part  of  the  year,  pointed  out  in  what  manner 
they  led  the  possessor  to  indulge  in  sinful  luxuries,  and  how 
indulgence  begat  desire,  and  desire  betrayed  integrity  and 
corrupted  the  heart,  making  it  evident,  that  the  rich  man  was 
liable  to  forget  his  unmerited  obligations  to  God,  and  to  oppress 
the  laborious  and  the  needful  when  he  required  their  services. 

Little  did  I  imagine,  in  thus  striving  to  keep  aloof  the 
ravenous  wolf  Ambition  from  my  guileless  flock,  that  I  was 
giving  cause  for  many  to  think  me  an  enemy  to  the  king  and 
government,  and  a  pervcrter  of  Christianity,  to  suit  levelling 
doctrines.  But  so  it  was.  Many  of  the  heritors  considered 
me  a  black-neb,  though  I  knew  it  not,  but  went  on  in  the 
course  of  my  duty,  thinking  only  how  best  to  preserve  peace 
on  earth,  and  goodwill  towarcls  men.  I  saw,  however,  an 
altered  manner  in  the  Ueportmtnt  of  several,  with  whom  I 
had  long  lived  in  friendly  terms.  It  was  not  marked  enough 
to  make  me  inquire  the  cause,  but  sufficiently  plain  to  affect 
my  ease  of  mind.  Accordingly,  about  the  end  of  this  year, 
1  fell  into  .1  dull  way :  my  spirit  was  subdued,  and  at  times 
I  was  aweary  of  the  day,  ind  longed  for  the  night,  when 
I  might  close  my  eyes  in  peaceful  slumbers.  I  missed  my 
•on  Gilbert,  who  had  been  a  companion  to  me  in  the  long 
nights,  while  his  mother  was  busy  with  the  lasses,  and  their 
ceaseless  \vhccls>  and  cardings,  in  the  kitchen.  Often  could  I 
have  found  it  in  my  heart  to  have  banned  that  never-ceasing 
industry,  and  to  tell  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  that  the  married  state 
was  made  for  something  else  than  to  make  napery,  and  beetle 
blankets  ;  but  it  wa^  her  happiness  tr  keep  all  at  work,  and 
she  had  no  pleasure  in  any  other  way  of  life,  so  I  sat  many  a 
night  by  the  fireside  writh  resignation  ;  sometimes  in  the  study, 
and  sometimes  in  the  parlour,  and,  as  I  was  doing  nothing, 
Mrs.  Kalwhidder  said  it  was  needless  to  light  the  candle.  Our 
daughter  Janet  was  in  this  time  at  a  boarding-school  in  Ayr, 
so  that  T  was  really  a  most  solitary  nituned  man. 

126 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


S 
n:e 

le 

Id 

la 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Year  1792 

Troubled  with  low  spirits — Accidental  meeting  with  Mr.  Cayenne,  who 
endeavours  to  remove  the  prejudices  entertained  against  nie. 

When  the  spring  in  this  year  began  to  brightei.  ^,.  the  brae, 
the  cloud  of  dulness,  that  had  darkened  and  oppressed  me  all 
the  winter,  somewhat  melted  away,  and  I  could  now  and  then 
joke  again  at  the  never-ending  toil  and  trouble  of  that  busiest 
of  all  bees,  the  second  Mrs.  Balwhidder.  But  still  I  was  far 
from  being  right,  a  small  matter  affected  me,  and  i  vvas  overly 
given  to  walking  by  myself,  and  musing  on  things  that  I  could 
tell  nothing  about — my  thoughts  were  just  the  rack  of  a  dream 
without  form,  and  driving  witlessly  as  the  smoke  that  mounteth 
up,  and  is  lost  in  the  airy  heights  of  the  sky. 

Heeding  little  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  clachan,  and 
taking  no  interest  in  the  concerns  of  anybody,  I  would  have 
been  contented  to  die,  but  I  had  no  ail  about  me.  An 
accident,  however,  fell  out,  that,  by  calling  on  me  for  an  effort, 
had  the  blessed  influence  of  clearing  my  vapours  almost 
entirely  away. 

One  morning,  as  I  was  walking  on  the  sunny  side  of  the 
road,  where  the  footpath  was  in  the  next  year  made  to  the 
cotton-mill,  I  fell  in  with  Mr.  Cayenne,  who  was  seemingly 
much  fashed — a  small  matter  could  do  that  at  any  time  ;  and  he 
came  up  to  me  with  a  red  face  and  an  angry  eye.  It  was  not 
my  intent  to  speak  to  him,  for  I  was  grown  loth  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  anybody,  so  I  bowed  and  passed  on. 
*  What,'  criea  Mr.  Cayenne,  '  and  will  you  not  speak  to  me  ? ' 
I  turned  round,  and  said  meekly,  *  Mr.  Cayenne,  I  have  no 
objections  to  speak  to  you ;  but  having  nothmt;  particular  to 
say,  it  did  not  seem  necessary  just  now.' 

He  looked  at  me  like  a  gled,  and  in  a  minute  exclaimed, 
'  Mad,  by  Jupiter !  as  mad  as  a  March  hare ! '  He  then 
entered  into  conversation  with  me,  and  said,  that  he  had 
noticed  me  an  altered  man,  and  was  just  so  far  on  his  way  to 
the  manse,  to  inquire  what  had  befallen  me.     So,  from  less  to 

127 


^1 


1  ; 


''  ii!i 


[l^f 


\m 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

more,  we  entered  into  the  marrow  of  my  case  ;  and  I  told  him 
how  I  had  observed  the  estranged  countenances  of  some  of  the 
heritors ;  at  which  he  swore  an  oath,  that  they  were  a  parcel 
of  the  damn'dest  boobies  in  the  country,  and  told  me  how  they 
had  taken  it  into  their  heads  that  I  was  a  leveller.  '  But  I 
know  you  better,'  said  Mr.  Cayenne,  'and  have  stood  up  for 
you  as  an  honest  conscientious  man,  though  I  don't  much  like 
your  humdrum  preaching.  However,  let  that  pass ;  I  insist 
upon  your  dining  with  me  to-day,  when  some  of  these  arrant 
fools  are  to  be  with  us,  and  the  devil's  in't,  if  I  don't  make  you 
friends  with  them.'  I  did  not  think  Mr.  Cayenne,  however, 
very  well  qualified  for  a  peacemaker,  but,  nevertheless,  I  con- 
sented to  go ;  and  having  thus  got  an  inkling  of  the  cause  of 
thai  cold  back-turning  which  had  distressed  me  so  much,  I 
made  such  an  effort  to  remove  the  error  that  was  entertained 
against  me,  that  some  of  the  heritors,  before  we  separated, 
shook  me  by  the  hands  with  the  cordiality  of  renewed  friend- 
ship ;  and,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  past  neglect,  there  was 
no  end  to  their  invitations  to  dinner,  which  had  the  effect  of 
putting  me  again  on  my  mettle,  and  removing  the  thick  and 
muddy  melancholious  humour  out  of  my  blood. 

But  what  confirmed  my  cure,  v/as  the  coming  home  of  my 
daughter  Janet  from  the  Ayr  boarding-school,  where  she  had 
learnt  to  play  on  the  spinet,  and  was  become  a  conversible 
lassie,  with  a  competent  knowledge,  for  a  woman,  of  geography 
and  history  ;  so  that  when  her  mother  was  busy  with  the 
wearyful  booming  wheel,  she  entertained  me  sometimes  with  a 
tune,  and  sometimes  with  her  tongue,  which  made  the  winter 
nights  fly  cantily  by. 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  the  malady  of  my  imagination, 
throughout  the  greatest  part  of  this  year,  or  that  really  nothing 
particular  did  happen  to  interest  me,  I  cannot  say,  but  it  is 
very  remarkable  that  I  have  nothing  remarkable  to  record — 
farther,  than  that  I  was  at  the  expense  myself  of  getting  the 
manse  rough  cast,  and  the  window  cheeks  painted,  with  roans 
put  up,  rather  than  apply  to  the  heritors  ;  for  they  were  always 
sorely  fashed  when  called  upon  for  outlay. 


128 


ce<.  [A  "|''f 


'SAg  entertained  me  sometimes  with  a  tune,' 
C0/>yri£Hl  1895  by  Maimilian  <r  Co, 


i  9 


:ii 


m 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 


Year  1793 

I  dream  a  remarkable  dream,  and  preach  a  sermon  in  consequence, 
applying  to  the  events  of  the  times — Two  dcmocratical  weaver  lads 
brought  before  Mr.  Cayenne,  as  justice  of  peace. 

On  the  first  night  of  this  year  I  dreamt  a  very  romarkable 
dream,  which,  when  I  now  recall  to  .n'rid.  p'c  this  distance  of 
time,  I  cannot  but  think  that  there  was  a  cast  of  prophecy  in 
it.  I  thought  that  I  stood  on  the  tower  of  an  old  popish  kirk, 
looking  out  at  the  window  upon  the  kirkyard,  where  I  beheld 
ancient  tombs,  with  effigies  and  coats  of  arms  on  the  wall 
thereof,  and  a  great  gate  at  the  one  side,  and  a  door  that  led 
into  a  dark  and  dismal  vault  at  the  other.  I  thought  all  the 
dead,  that  were  lying  in  the  common  graves,  rose  out  of  their 
coffins  ;  at  the  same  time,  from  the  old  and  grand  monuments, 
with  the  effigies  and  coats  cf  arms,  came  the  great  men,  and 
the  kings  of  the  earth  with  crowns  on  their  heads,  and  globes 
and  sceptres  in  their  hands. 

I  stood  wondering  what  was  to  ensue,  when  presently  I 
heard  the  noise  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  anon  I  beheld 
an  army  with  banners  entering  in  at  the  gate ;  upon  which 
the  kings  and  the  great  men  came  also  forth  in  their  power 
and  array,  and  a  dreadful  battle  was  foughten  ;  but  the  mul- 
titude, that  had  risen  from  the  common  graves,  stood  afar  off, 
and  were  but  lookers-on. 

The  kings  and  their  host  were  utterly  discomfited.  They 
were  driven  within  the  doors  of  their  monuments,  their  coats 
of  arms  were  broken  off,  and  their  effigies  cast  down,  and  the 
victors  triumphed  over  them  with  the  flourishes  of  trumpets 
and  the  waving  of  banners.  But  while  I  looked,  the  vision 
was  changed,  and  I  then  beheld  a  wide  and  a  dreary  waste,  and 
afar  off  the  steeples  of  a  great  city,  and  a  tower  in  the  midst, 
like  the  tower  of  Babel,  and  on  it  I  could  discern  written  in 
characters  of  fire,  *  Public  Opinion.'  While  I  was  pondering 
at  the  same,  I  heard  a  great  shout,  and  presently  the  con- 
querors made  their  appearance,  coming  over  the  desolate  moor. 
They  were  going  in  great  pride  and  might  towards  the  city, 

130 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


but  an  awful  burning  rose,  afar  as  it  were  in  the  darkness,  and 
the  flames  stood  like  a  tower  of  fire  that  reached  unto  the 
heavens.  And  I  saw  a  dreadful  hand  and  an  arm  stretched 
from  out  of  the  cloud,  and  in  its  hold  was  a  besom  made  of 
the  hail  and  the  storm,  and  it  swept  the  fugitives  like  dust ; 
and  in  their  place  I  saw  the  churchyard,  as  it  were,  cleared 
and  spread  around,  the  graves  closed,  and  the  ancient  tombs, 
with  their  coats  of  arms  and  their  effigies  of  stone,  all  as  they 
were  in  the  beginning.  I  then  awoke,  and  behold  it  was  a 
dream. 

This  vision  perplexed  mc  for  many  days,  and  when  the 
news  came  that  the  King  of  France  was  beheaded  by  the 
hands  of  his  people,  I  received,  as  it  were,  a  token  in  con- 
firmation of  the  vision  that  had  been  disclosed  to  me  in  my 
sleep,  and  I  preached  a  discourse  on  the  same,  and  against  the 
French  Revolution,  that  was  thought  one  of  the  greatest  and 
soundest  jermons  that  I  had  ever  delivered  in  my  pulpit. 

On  the  Monday  following,  Mr.  Cayenne,  who  had  been 
some  time  before  appointed  a  justice  of  the  peace,  came  over 
from  Wheatrig  House  to  the  Cross  Keys,  where  he  sent  for  me 
and  divers  other  respectable  inhabitants  of  the  clachan,  and 
told  us  that  he  was  to  have  a  sad  business,  for  a  warrant  was 
out  to  bring  before  him  two  democratic  weaver  lads,  on  a 
suspicion  of  high  treason.  Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered, 
when  they  were  brought  in,  and  he  began  to  ask  them  how 
they  dared  to  think  of  dividing,  with  their  liberty  and  equality 
of  principles,  his  and  every  other  man's  property  in  the 
country.  The  men  answered  him  in  a  calm  manner,  and  told 
him  they  sought  no  man's  property,  but  only  their  own  natural 
rights ;  upon  which  he  called  them  traitors  and  reformers. 
They  denied  they  were  traitors,  but  confessed  they  were 
reformers,  and  said  they  knew  not  how  that  should  be  imputed 
to  them  as  a  fault,  for  that  the  greatest  men  of  all  times  had 
been  reformers, — 'Was  not,'  they  said,  'our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
a  reformer  ? '  '  And  what  the  devil  did  He  make  of  it  ? '  cried 
Mr.  Cayenne,  bursting  with  passion  ;  '  was  He  not  crucified  ? ' 

I  thought,  when  I  heard  these  words,  that  the  pillarj  of  the 
earth  sunk  beneath  me,  and  that  the  roof  of  the  house  was 
carried  away  in  a  whirlwind.  The  drums  of  my  ears  crackit, 
blue  starns  danced  before  my  sighi>  and  I  was  fain  to  leave 
thf,  house  and  hie  me  home  to  the  m^  nse,  where  I  sat  down 


^'  1 


m 


li 


!f! 


m 


i 


1 


m 


I 


i 


';  I r 


-    fi  iii 

n 


ANNALS  OI'  THIO  I'ARISII 

in  my  study,  like  ;i  stupificd  rrcaturc  awaiting  what  would 
betide.  N()thin},%  however,  was  found  aj^ainst  the  weaver  lads  ; 
but  I  never  from  tliat  day  couhl  look  on  Mr.  Cayenne  as  a 
Christian,  thou^di  surely  he  was  a  true  j,fovcrnment  man. 

Soon  after  this  affair  there  was  a  pleasant  re-cdifiration  of 
a  gospel-spirit  anions  the  heritors,  especially  when  they  heard 
how  I  had  handled  tlic  regiv  ides  of  Kranre  ;  and  on  the 
following  Sunday,  I  had  the  conifr)rtablc  satisfaction  to  see 
many  a  gentleman  in  their  pews,  that  had  not  been  for  years 
within  a  kirk  door.  The  democrats,  who  took  a  world  of 
trouble  to  misrc|)rescnt  the  actions  of  the  gentry,  insinuated 
that  all  this  was  not  from  any  new  sense  of  grace,  but  in  fi,'ar 
of  their  being  reported  as  suspected  persons  to  the  king's 
government.  But  I  could  not  think  so,  and  considered  their 
renewal  of  communion  with  the  church  as  a  sv/earing  of 
allegiance  to  the  King  of  kings,  against  that  host  of  French 
atheists,  who  had  torn  the  mort-cloth  from  the  coffin,  and 
made  it  a  banner,  with  which  they  were  t>one  forth  to  war 
against  the  Lamb.  The  whole  year  was,  howe\'er,  spent  in 
great  uneasiness,  and  the  proclamation  of  the  war  was  followed 
by  an  appalling  stop  in  trade.  We  heard  of  nothing  but 
failures  on  all  hands,  .and  among  others  hat  grieved  me,  was 
that  of  Mr.  Maitland  of  Glasgow,  wh(-  lad  befriended  Mrs, 
Malcolm  in  the  days  ot  her  affliction,  and  gave  her  son  Robert 
his  fine  ship.  It  was  a  sore  thing  to  hear  of  so  many 
breakings,  especially  of  old  respected  men  hants  like  him,  who 
had  been  a  Lord  Ptovost,  and  was  far  declined  mto  the 
afternoon  of  life.  He  did  not,  howe/er,  long  survive  the 
mutation  of  his  fortune,  but  bending  hi;  aged  head  in  sorrow, 
sunk  down  beneath  the  stroke  to  rise  no  more.    . 


13a 


ANNALS  OK  TllK  TAKISII 


CIIAF'TKR    XXXV 


J  f 


^i 


Vkak   1794 

The.  conditinn  of  the  parish,  as  divided  into  Rovcrnmrnt  mm  and 
Jacobins  —  1  cndravoiir  to  jircvi-nt  ("liiistian  charity  from  luinj; 
forj;otti*n  in  the  plirascoloj^y  of  utility  and  philantlirdpy. 

This  year  had  opened  into  all  the  Icafincss  of  midsummer 
hcfore  anylhinj,'  inem(>ral)le  happened  in  the  j)arish,  further 
than  that  tlic  sad  division  of  my  people  into  };overnmcnt  men 
and  Jarohins  was  perfected.  This  calamity,  for  I  never  could 
consider  such  heart-burning^  among  neighbours  as  anything 
less  than  a  very  heavy  calamity,  was  assuredly  occasioned  by 
faults  on  both  sides,  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  gentry 
did  nothing  to  win  the  commonality  from  the  errors  of  their 
way.  A  little  more  condescension  on  their  part  wotiUl  not 
have  made  things  worse,  and  might  have  made  them  better  ; 
but  pride  interposed,  and  caused  them  to  think  that  any  show 
of  affability  from  them  would  be  construed  by  the  democrats 
into  a  terror  of  their  power.  While  the  democrats  were  no 
less  to  blame  ;  for  hearing  how  their  compeers  were  thriving 
in  France,  and  demolishing  every  obstacle  to  their  ascendency, 
they  were  crousc  and  really  insolent,  evidencing  none  of  that 
temperance  in  prosperity  that  proves  the  possessors  worthy  of 
their  good  fortune. 

As  for  me,  my  duty  in  these  circumstances  was  plain  and 
simple.  The  Christian  religion  was  attempted  to  be  brought 
into  disrepute  ;  the  rising  generation  were  taught  to  jibe  at  its 
holiest  ordinances  ;  and  the  kirk  was  more  frequented  as  a 
place  to  while  awav  e  time  on  a  rainy  Sunday,  than  for  any 
insight  of  tht  ^-^  ur  ions  and  revelations  in  the  sacred  book. 
Knowing  this,  I  perceived  that  it  would  be  of  no  effect  to 
handle  much  the  mysteries  of  the  faith  ;  but  as  there  was  at 
the  time  a  bruit  and  a  sound  about  universal  benevolence, 
philanthropy,  utility,  and  all  the  other  disguises  with  which  an 
infidel  philosophy  appropriated  to  itself  the  charity,  brotherly 
love,  and  well-doing  inculcated  by  our  holy  religion,  I  set 
myself  to  task  upon  these  heads,  and  thought  it  no  robbery 

133 


!  f 


i  .  'I 


I 


: 


ANNALS  OF  Tllfc:  PARISH 

to  use  .1  little  of  the  stratajfcm  employed  a^'ainst  Christ's 
Kinj,'(l()in,  to  promote  the  interests  thereof  in  the  hearts  and 
understandings  of  those  whose  ears  would  have  hecn  sealed 
against  me  had  I  attempted  to  expound  higher  things. 
Accordingly  on  one  day  it  was  my  practii  e  to  show  what  the 
nature  of  Christian  charity  was,  ( omparing  it  to  the  light  and 
warmth  of  the  £  n  that  shines  impartially  on  the  just  and  the 
unjust — showing  that  man,  without  the  sense  of  it  as  a  duty, 
was  as  the  beasts  that  |)erish,  and  that  every  feeling  of  his 
nature  was  intimately  seKish,  but  that  when  actuated  by  this 
divine  impulse,  he  rose  out  of  himself  and  became  as  a  god, 
zealous  to  abate  the  suflcrings  of  all  things  that  live.  And  on 
the  next  day,  I  demonstrated  that  the  new  benevolence  which 
had  come  so  much  into  vogue  was  but  another  version  of  this 
Christian  virtue.  In  like  manner  I  dealt  with  brotherly  love, 
bringing  it  home  to  the  business  and  bo:oms  of  my  hearers, 
that  the  Christianity  of  it  was  neither  enlarged  nor  bettered  by 
being  baptized  with  the  (}reek  name  of  philanthropy.  With 
well-doing,  however,  I  went  more  roundly  to  work.  I  told  my 
people  that  I  thought  they  had  more  sense  than  to  secede 
from  Christianity  to  become  Utilitarians,  for  that  it  would  be  a 
confession  of  ignorance  of  the  faith  they  deserted,  seeing  that 
it  was  the  main  duty  inculcated  by  our  religion  to  do  all  in 
morals  and  manners  to  which  the  new-fangled  doctrine  of 
utility  pretended. 

These  discourses,  which  I  continued  for  some  time,  had  no 
great  effect  on  the  men  ;  but,  being  prepared  in  a  familiar 
household  manner,  they  took  the  fancies  of  the  young  women, 
which  was  to  me  an  assurance  that  the  seed  I  had  planted 
would  in  time  shoot  forth  ;  for  I  reasoned  with  myself,  that  if 
the  gudemen  of  the  immediate  generation  should  continue 
free-thinkers,  their  wives  will  take  care  that  those  of  the  next 
shall  not  lack  that  spunk  of  grace ;  so  I  was  cheered  under 
that  obscurity  which  fell  upon  Christianity  at  this  time,  with  a 
vista  beyond,  in  which  I  saw,  as  it  were,  the  children  unborn, 
walking  on  the  bright  green,  and  in  the  unclouded  splendour 
of  the  faith. 

But,  what  with  the  decay  of  trade,  and  the  temptation  of 
the  king's  bounty,  and  over  all,  the  witlessness  that  was  in  the 
spirit  of  man  at  this  time,  the  number  that  enlisted  in  the 
course  of  the  year  from  the  parish  was  prodigious.      In  one 

134 


ANNALS  OK  TIIK  TAKISII 

week  no  less  than  three  weavers  and  two  rotton-spinners  went 
over  to  Ayr,  and  took  the  bounty  for  the  Royal  Artillery.  lUit 
I  could  not  help  reniarkinj^  to  myself,  that  the  people  were 
grown  so  used  to  changes  and  extraordinary  adventures,  that 
the  single  enlistment  of  Thomas  Wilson,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  American  war,  o(  casioned  a  far  greater  grief  and  work 
among  us,  than  all  the  swarms  that  went  ofT"  week  after  week 
in  the  months  of  November  und  December  uf  this  year. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 
Ykar  1795 


'n 


A  recruiting  party  visits  thr  town — After  thorn,  playnrs — then  prcnchinp 
(jUtikers — Tiic  progress  of  philosopiiy  aiiiony  the  weavers. 

Ttie  present  Ann.  I)om.  was  ushered  in  with  an  event  that  I 
had  never  dreaded  to  see  in  my  day,  in  our  once  sober  and 
religious  country  parish.  The  number  of  lads  that  had  gone 
over  to  Ayr  to  be  soldiers  from  among  the  spinners  and 
weavers  of  Cayenneville  had  been  so  great,  that  the  govern- 
ment got  note  of  it,  and  sent  a  recruiting  party  to  be  quartered 
in  the  town  ;  for  the  term  clachan  was  beginning  by  this  time 
to  wear  out  of  fashion  ;  indeed  the  place  itself  was  outgrowing 
the  fitness  of  that  title.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  dunt  that  the 
first  tap  of  the  drum  gied  to  my  heart  as  I  was  sitting  on 
Hansel  Monday  by  myself  at  the  parlour  fireside,  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  being  throng  with  the  lasses  looking  out  a 
washing,  and  my  daughter  at  Ayr,  spending  a  few  days  with 
her  old  comrades  of  the  boarding-school.  I  thought  it  was 
the  enemy,  and  then  anon  the  sound  of  the  fife  came  shrill  to 
the  ear ;  for  the  night  was  lown  and  peaceful.  My  wife  and 
all  the  lasses  came  flying  in  upon  me,  crying  all,  in  the  name 
of  Heaven,  what  could  it  be  ?  by  which  I  was  obligated  to  nut 
on  my  big  coat,  and,  with  my  hat  and  staff,  go  out  to  inquire. 
The  whole  town  was  aloof,  the  aged  at  the  doors  in  clusters, 
and  the  bairns  following  the  tattoo,  as  it  was  called,  and  at 
every  doubling  beat  of  the  drum,  shouting  as  if  they  had  been 
in  the  face  of  their  foemen. 

135 


ill 

V 

I 

I 


i  1  'J^' 


ill 


!.  ii 


*■' 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


Mr.  Archibald  Dozendalc,  one  of  my  ciders,  was  saying  to 
several  persons  around  him,  just  as  I  came  up,  '  Hcch,  sirs! 
but  the  battle  draws  near  our  ^^ates,'  upon  which  there  was  a 
heavy  si^di  from  all  that  heard  him  ;  and  then  they  told  me  of 
the  Serjeant's  business,  and  wc  had  a  serious  communing 
together  anent  the  same.  Hut  while  wc  were  thus  standing 
discoursing  on  the  causeway,  Mrs.  Halwhidder  and  the  servant 
lasses  could  thole  no  longer,  but  in  a  troop  came  in  quest  of 
me  to  hear  what  wns  doing.  In  short,  it  was  a  night  both  of 
sorrow  and  anxiety.  Mr.  Dozendale  walked  back  to  the 
manse  with  us,  and  wc  had  a  sober  tumbler  of  toddy  togethei, 
marvelling  exceedingly  where  these  fearful  portents  and  changes 
would  stop,  both  of  us  being  of  opinion  thai  the  end  of  the 
world  was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer. 

Whether  it  was,  however,  that  the  lads  belonging  to  the 
place  did  not  like  to  show  themselves  with  the  enlistment 
cockades  among  their  acquaintance,  or  that  there  was  any 
other  reason,  I  cannot  take  it  upon  me  to  say,  but  certain  it 
is,  the  recruiting  party  came  no  speed,  and  in  consequence 
were  removed  about  the  end  of  March. 

Another  thing  happened  in  this  year,  too  remarkable  for 
me  to  neglect  to  put  on  record,  as  it  strangely  and  strikingly 
marked  the  rapid  resolutions  that  were  going  on.  In  the 
month  of  August,  at  the  time  of  the  lair,  a  gang  of  play-actors 
came,  and  hired  Tliomas  Thacklan's  bain  for  their  enactments. 
They  were  the  first  of  that  clanjamfrcy  who  had  ever  been  in 
the  parish,  and  t')ere  was  a  wonderful  excitement  caused  by 
the  rumours  concerning  them.  Their  first  performance  was 
Douglas  Tragedy,  and  the  Gentle  Shepherd ;  and  the  general 
opinion  was,  that  the  lad  who  played  Norval  in  the  play,  and 
Patie  in  the  farce,  was  an  English  lord's  son,  who  had  run 
away  from  his  parents,  rather  than  marry  an  old  cracket  lady, 
with  a  great  portion.  But,  whatever  truth  there  might  be  in 
this  notion,  certain  it  is  the  whole  pack  was  in  a  state  of 
perfect  beggary;  and  yet,  for  all  that,  they  not  only  in  their 
parts,  aS  I  was  told,  laughed  most  heartily,  but  made  others 
do  the  same  ;  for  I  was  constrained  to  let  my  daughter  go  to 
see  them,  with  some  of  her  acquaintance,  and  she  gave  me 
such  an  account  of  what  they  did,  that  I  thought  I  would  have 
liked  to  have  gotten  a  keek  at  them  myself.  At  the  same 
time,  I  must  own  this  was  a  sinful  curiosity,  and  I  stifled  it  to 

136 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


m 


the  best  of  my  ability.  Among  other  plays  that  they  did  was 
one  caWed  ,U(u/)e//i  ami  the  WitcJus^  which  the  Miss  Cayennes 
had  seen  performed  in  London,  when  they  were  there  in  the 
winter  time,  with  their  father,  for  three  months,  seeing  the 
world,  after  coming  from  the  boarding-school.  But  it  was  no 
more  like  the  true  play  of  Shakespeare  the  poet,  a<'cording  to 
their  account,  than  a  diiddy  bethercl  set  up  to  fright  the 
sparrows  from  the  pease  is  like  a  living  gentleman.  The 
hungry  players,  instead  of  behaving  like  guests  at  the  royal 
banquet,  were  voracious  on  the  needfui  feast  of  bread,  and  the 
strong  ale,  that  served  for  wine  in  decanters  ;  but  the  greatest 
sport  of  all  was  about  ^  kail-pot  that  acted  the  part  of  a 
cauldron,  and  which  sh  )uid  have  sunk  with  thunder  and 
lightning  into  the  earth  ;  liowever,  it  did  quite  as  woli,  for  it 
made  its  exit,  as  Miss  \  ir^inia  said,  by  w;'.lkini>  cpiietly  off, 
being  pulled  by  a  string',  fastened  to  one  of  its  feet  No  scene 
of  the  play  was  so  nuu  h  applauded  as  this  one  ;  and  the  actor 
who  did  the  part  of  King  Macbeth  siade  a  incst  polite  bow  of 
thankfulness  to  the  audience,  for  the  approbation  wiih  which 
they  had  received  the  performance  of  the  jiot. 

We  bad  likewise,  shortly  after  the  oiiuies  cxrutit  of  the 
players,  <;ii  exhibition  of  a  ditferent  sort  in  the  same  barn.  This 
was  by  two  English  ([uakers,  and  a  quakcr  lady,  tanners  from 
Kendal,  who  had  been  at  Ayr  on  some  leather  business,  where 
they  preached,  but  made  no  proselytes.  The  travellers  were 
all  three  in  a  whisky,  drawn  by  one  of  the  best-ordered  horses, 
as  the  hostler  at  the  Cross  Keys  told  me,  ever  seen.  They 
came  to  the  inn  to  their  dinner,  and,  meaning  to  stay  all  night, 
sent  round  to  let  it  be  known  that  they  would  hold  a  niocting 
in  friend  Thacklan's  barn  ;  but  Thomas  denied  they  were 
either  kith  or  kin  to  him  ;  this,  however,  was  their  way  of 
speaking. 

In  the  evening,  owing  to  the  notice,  a  great  congregation 
was  assembled  in  the  barn,  and  I  myself,  along  with  Mr. 
Archibald  Dozendale,  went  there  likewise,  to  keep  the  people 
in  awe  ;  for  we  feared  the  strangers  might  be  jeered  and 
insulted.  The  three  were  seated  aloft  on  a  high  stage 
prepared  on  purpose,  with  two  mares  and  scaffold -deals, 
borrowed  from  Mr.  Trov/el  the  mason.  They  sat  long,  and 
silent ;  but  at  last  the  spirit  moved  the  woman,  and  she  rose 
and  delivered   a   very  sensible  exposition   of  Christianity.      I 


.       I' 


I 


■i', 

::^' 


V 


p 


'  The  actor  who  did  the  part  0/  King  Macbeth  made  a  most  polite  bow 

0/  thankfulness. 


ANNALS  OF  THP:  PARISH 

was  rc.illy  surprised  to  hear  such  sound  doctrine;  and  Mr. 
Dozendalc  said,  justly,  that  it  was  more  to  the  i)uri)ose  tlian 
some  that  my  younj^^er  Ijrethien  from  Edinburj^h  endeavoured 
to  teach.  So,  that  those  who  went  to  laugh  at  the  sincere 
simplicity  of  the  pious  quakers  were  rebukctl  by  a  very 
edifying  discourse  on  the  moral  duties  of  a  Christian's  life. 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  this,  to  the  best  of  my  recollec- 
tion, was  another  unsatisfactory  year.  In  this  we  were 
doubtless  brought  more  into  the  world,  but  we  had  a  greater 
variety  of  temptation  set  before  us,  and  there  was  still  jealousy 
and  estrangement  in  the  dispositions  of  the  gentry  and  the 
lower  orders,  particularly  the  manufacturers.  I  cannot  say, 
indeed,  that  there  was  any  increase  of  corruption  among  the 
rural  portion  of  my  people  ;  Tor  their  vocation  calling  them  to 
work  apart,  in  the  purity  of  the  free  air  of  heaven,  they  were 
kept  uncontaminated  by  that  seditious  infection  which  fevered 
the  minds  of  the  sedentary  weavers,  and  working  like  flatulence 
in  the  stomachs  of  the  cotton-spinners,  sent  up  into  their  heads 
a  vain  and  diseased  fume  of  infidel  philosophy. 


if 


M 

V  I  I; 

•|KH 

Ijji 

ir  ■ 

1  If 

'i  i.  i 

JP    H  1 

1^1 

if  1  <: 

CHAPTER    XXXVII 


Year  1796 

Death  of  second  Mrs.  Balwhiddcr — I  look  out  for  a  tliird,  and  fix  upon 
Mrs.  Nugent,  a  widow — Particulars  of  the  courtship. 


The  prosperity  of  fortune  is  like  the  blossoms  of  spring,  or 
the  golden  hue  of  the  evening  cloud.  It  delightcth  the  spirit, 
and  passeth  away. 

In  the  month  of  February  my  second  wife  was  gathered  to 
the  Lord.  She  had  been  very  ill  for  some  time  with  an 
income  in  her  side,  which  no  medicine  could  remove.  I  had 
the  best  doctors  in  the  country-side  to  her,  but  their  skill  was 
of  no  avail,  their  opinions  being  that  her  ail  was  caused  by  an 
internal  abscess,  for  which  physic  has  provided  no  cure.  Her 
death  was  to  me  a  great  sorrow,  for  she  was  a  most  excellent 
wife,  industrious  to  a  degree,  and  managed  cver>'thing  with  so 
brisk  a  hand,  that   nothing  went  wrong   that  she  put   it  to. 

139 


ANNALS  OF  THK  PARISH 

With  her  I  h.ul  j,'ro\vn  richer  than  any  other  miiiistcr  in  the 
presbytery  ;  hut  above  all,  she  was  the  mother  of  .ny  bairns, 
which  gave  her  a  double  claim  upon  mc. 

I  laid  her  by  the  side  of  my  first  love,  Betty  Lanshaw,  my 
own  cousin  that  was,  and  I  inscribed  her  name  upon  the  same 
headstone  ;  l)ut  time  had  drained  my  i)i)etical  vein^  .nd  I  have 
not  yet  been  able  to  indite  an  epitaph  on  her  merits  and 
virtu^s,  for  she  had  an  eminent  share  of  both.  Her  greatest 
fault-  the  best  have  their  faults  was  an  over-enrnestness  to 
gather  gear  ;  in  the  doing  of  which  I  thought  she  sometimes 
sacrificed  the  comforts  of  a  pleasant  fireside,  for  she  was  never 
in  her  clement  but  when  she  was  keeping  the  servants  eydcnt 
at  their  work.  But,  if  by  this  she  subtracted  something  from 
the  quietude  that  was  most  consonant  to  my  nature,  she  has 
left  cause,  both  in  bank  and  bond,  for  nic  and  her  bairns  to 
bless  her  great  household  activity. 

She  was  not  long  deposited  in  her  place  of  rest  till  I  had 
occasion  to  find  her  loss.  All  my  things  were  kept  by  her  in 
a  most  perjink  and  excellent  order,  but  they  soon  fell  into  an 
amazing  confusion,  for,  as  she  often  said  to  me,  I  had  a  turn 
for  heedlessness  ;  insomuch  that  although  my  daughter  Janet 
was  grown  up,  and  able  to  keep  the  house,  I  saw  that  it  would 
be  necessary,  as  soon  as  decency  would  allow,  for  mc  to  take 
another  wife.  I  was  moved  to  this  chiefly  by  foreseeing  that 
my  daughter  would  in  time  be  married,  and  taken  away  from 
me,  but  more  on  account  of  the  servant  lasses,  who  grew  out 
of  lall  bounds,  verifying  the  proverb,  '  Well  kens  the  mouse 
when  the  cat's  out  of  the  house.'  Besides  this,  I  was  now  far 
down  in  the  vale  of  years,  and  could  not  expect  be  long 
without  feeling  some  of  the  penalties  of  old  age,  .ui.iough  I 
was  still  a  hail  and  sound  man.  It  therefore  behoved  me  to 
look  in  time  for  a  helpmate  to  tend  me  in  my  approaching 
infirmities. 

Upon  this  important  concern  I  reflected,  as  I  may  say,  in 
the  watches  of  the  night,  and,  considering  the  circumstances 
of  my  situation,  I  saw  it  would  not  do  for  me  to  look  out  for 
an  overly  young  woman,  nor  yet  would  it  do  for  one  of  my 
ways  to  take  an  elderly  maiden,  ladies  of  that  sort  being  liable 
to  possess  strong-set  particularities.  I  therefore  resolved  that 
my  choice  should  lie  among  widows  of  a  discreet  age  ;  and  I 
had  a  glimmer  in  my  mind  of  speaking  to  Mrs.  Malcolm,  but 

140 


ii'f 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

when  I  reflected  on  tlie  saintly  steadiness  of  her  charnrtn,  I 
was  satisfied  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  think  of  her.  Accord- 
ingly 1  bent  my  brows,  and  looked  towards  Iwille,  which  is 
an  abundant  trone  for  widows  and  other  single  women  ;  and  1 
fixed  my  purpose  on  Mrs.  Nugent,  the  relic  of  a  Professor  in 
the  University  of  (ilasgow,  both  because  she  was  a  well-bretl 
woman,  without  any  children  to  plea  about  the  interest  of  my 
own  two,  and  likewise  because  she  was  held  in  great  estimation 
by  all  who  knew  her,  as  a  lady  of  a  Christian  principle. 

It  was  some  time  in  the  summer,  however,  before  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject ;  but  one  afternoon, 
in  the  month  of  August,  I  resolved  to  do  so,  and  with  that 
intent,  walked  leisurely  over  to  Irville,  and  after  calling  on  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Dinwiddie,  the  minister,  I  stepped  in,  as  if  by 
chance,  to  Mrs.  Nugent's.  I  could  sec  that  she  was  a  little 
surprised  at  my  visit ;  however,  she  treated  me  with  every 
possible  Civility,  and  her  servant  lass  bringing  in  the  tea  things, 
in  a  most  orderly  manner,  as  punctually  as  the  clock  was 
striking,  she  invited  me  to  sit  still  and  drink  my  tea  with  her ; 
which  I  did,  being  none  displeased  to  get  such  encouragement. 
However,  I  said  nothing  that  time,  but  returned  to  the  manse, 
very  well  content  with  what  I  had  observed,  which  made  me 
fain  to  repeat  my  visit.  So,  in  the  course  of  the  week,  taking 
Janet,  my  daughter,  with  me,  we  walked  over  in  the  forenoon, 
.ind  called  at  Mrs.  Nugent's  first,  before  going  to  any  other 
house ;  and  Janet  saying,  as  we  came  out  to  go  to  the 
minister's,  that  she  thought  Mrs.  Nugent  an  .agrecaWe  woman, 
I  determined  to  knock  the  nail  on  the  head  without  further 
delay. 

Accordingly  I  invited  the  minister  and  his  wife  to  dine 
with  us  on  the  Thursday  following  ;  and  before  leaving  the 
town,  I  made  Janet,  while  the  minister  and  me  were  handling 
a  subject,  as  a  sort  of  thing  of  common  civility,  go  to  Mrs. 
Nugent,  and  invite  her  also.  Dr.  Dinwiddie  was  a  gleg  man, 
of  a  jocose  nature  ;  and  he,  guessing  something  of  what  I  was 
ettling  at,  was  very  mirthful  with  me,  but  I  kept  my  own 
counsel  till  a  meet  season. 

On  the  Thursday,  the  company  as  invited  came,  and 
nothing  extraordinary  v\a'3  seen,  but  in  cutting  up  and  helping 
a  hen.  Dr.  Dinwiddie  put  one  wing  on  Mrs.  Nugent's  plate, 
and  the  other  wii^^  on  my  plate,  and  said,  there  have  been 

141 


•  i| 

pi      I 

?  1     ■■■•     I 

i: 
I 


'■:   \ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  I'ARISII 

greater  miracles  than  these  two  wings  flying  together,  which 
was  a  sharp  joke,  that  caused  no  httle  merriment,  at  the 
expense  of  Mrs.  Nugent  and  me.      I,  however,  to  sho     that  I 


*  A  kindly  nip  on  her  sonsy  arm' 

was  none  daunted,  laid  a  leg  also  on  her  plate,  and  took 
another  on  my  own.,  saying,  in  the  words  of  the  Reverend 
Doctor,  there  have  been  greater  miracles  than  that  these  two 
legs  should  lie  in  the  same  nest,  which  was  thought  a  very 

142 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

clever  come  off;  nml  at  tho  same  time,  I  gave  Mrs.  Niij^ent  a 
kindly  nip  on  her  sonsy  arm,  uliich  was  breaking,'  the  ice  in  as 
pleasant  a  way  as  could  be.  In  short,  before  anything,'  passed 
between  ourselves  on  the  subject,  we  were  set  down  for  a 
trysted  pair ;  and  this  being  the  case,  we  were  married  as 
soon  as  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day  had  passed  from  the  death 
of  the  second  Mrs.  Bahvhidder ;  and  neither  of  us  have  had 
occasion  to  rue  the  bargain.  It  is,  however,  but  a  piece  of 
justice  due  to  my  second  wife  to  say,  that  this  was  not  a  little 
owing  to  her  good  management  ;  for  she  had  left  such  a  wcll- 
plcnished  house,  that  her  successor  said  wc  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  contribute  to  one  another's  happiness. 

In  this  year  nothing  more  memora!)lc  happened  in  the 
parish,  saving  that  the  cotton-mill  dam  burst,  about  the  time 
of  the  Lammas  flood,  and  the  waters  went  forth  like  a  dcluj^e 
of  destruction,  carrying  off  much  victual,  and  causing  a  vast 
of  damage  to  the  mills  that  are  lower  down  the  stream.  It 
was  just  a  prodigy  to  see  how  calmly  Mr.  Cayenne  acted  on 
that  occasion  ;  for  being  at  other  times  as  crabbed  as  a  wud 
terrier,  folk  were  afraid  to  tell  him  till  he  came  out  himself  in 
the  morning  and  saw  the  devastation  ;  at  the  sight  of  which 
he  gave  only  a  shrill  whistle,  and  began  to  laugh  at  the  idea 
of  the  men  fearing  to  take  him  the  news,  as  if  he  had  not 
fortune  and  philosophy  enough,  as  he  called  it,  to  withstand 
much  greater  misfortunes. 


('  '*'--'i 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

Year   1797 


Mr.  Henry  Melcomb  comos  to  the  parish  to  so(>  his  uncle,  Mr,  Cayenne — 
From  some  jocular  luiiaviour  on  liis  part,  Mo}^  (laffaw  falls  in  love 
with  him — The  sad  result  of  the  adventure  when  he  is  married. 


m] 


When  I  have  seen  in  my  walks  the  irrational  creatures  of 
Ciod,  the  birds  and  the  beasts,  governed  by  a  kindly  instinct 
in  attendance  on  their  young,  often  has  it  come  into  my  head 
that  love  and  charity,  far  more  than  reason  or  justice,  formed 
the  tie  that  holds  the    /orld,   with   all    its  jarring  wants  and 

•43 


•■'■J 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


woes,  in  social  dependence  and  obligation  together ;  and  in 
this  year  a  strong  verification  of  the  soundness  of  this  notion 
was  exemplified  in  the  conduct  of  the  poor  haverel  lassie,  Meg 
Gaflfaw,  whose  naturality  on  the  occasion  of  her  mother's 
death  I  have  related  at  length  in  this  chronicle. 

In  the  course  of  the  summer,  Mr.  Henry  Melcomb,  who 
was  a  nephew  to  Mr.  Cayenne,  came  down  from  England  to 
see  his  uncle.  He  had  just  completed  his  education  at  the 
College  of  Christ  Church,  in  Oxford,  and  was  the  most  perfect 
young  gentleman  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  this  part  of  the 
country. 

In  his  appearance  he  was  a  very  paragon,  with  a  fine  manly 
countenance,  frank-hearted,  blithe,  and,  in  many  points  of 
character,  very  like  my  old  friend  the  Lord  Eglesham  who 
was  shot.  Indeed,  in  some  respects,  he  was  even  above  his 
lordship,  for  he  had  a  great  turn  at  ready  wit,  and  could  joke 
and  banter  in  a  most  agreeable  manner.  He  came  very  often 
to  the  manse  to  see  me,  and  took  great  pleasure  in  my  com- 
pany, and  really  used  a  freedom  that  was  so  droll,  I  could 
scarcely  keep  my  composity  and  decorum  with  him.  Among 
others  that  shared  in  his  attention  was  daft  Meg  Gaffaw, 
whom  he  had  forgathered  with  one  day  in  coming  to  see  tne, 
and  after  conversing  with  her  for  some  time,  he  handed  her, 
as  she  told  me  herself,  over  the  kirk  stile,  like  a  lady  of  high 
degree,  and  came  with  her  to  the  manse  door  linking  by  the 
arm. 

From  the  ill-timed  daffin  of  that  hour,  poor  Meg  fell  deep 
in  love  with  Mr.  Melcomb,  and  it  was  just  a  play-acting  to  see 
the  arts  and  antics  she  put  in  practice  to  win  his  attention. 
In  her  garb  she  had  never  any  sense  of  a  proper  propriety, 
but  went  about  the  country  asking  for  shapings  of  silks  and 
satins,  with  which  she  patched  her  duds,  calling  them  by  the 
divers  names  of  robes  and  negligees.  All  hitherto,  however, 
had  been  moderation  compared  to  the  daffadile  of  vanity 
which  she  was  now  seen,  when  she  had  searched,  as  she  said, 
to  the  bottom  of  her  coffer.  I  cannot  take  it  upon  me  to 
describe  her,  but  she  kithed  in  such  a  variety  of  cuffs  and 
ruffles,  feathers,  old  gum-flowers,  painted  paper  knots,  ribbons, 
and  furs,  and  laces,  and  went  about  gecking  and  simpering 
with  an  old  fan  in  her  hand,  that  it  was  not  in  the  power  of 
nature  to  look  at  her  with  sobriety. 

144 


he 
er, 
ity 
id. 

to 
nd 

s, 
ng 

of 


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M: 


'  Handed  her  oi>er  the  kirk  stile,' 


t    M 


ANNALS  OK  THE  PARISH 


Ilcr  first  appearance  in  this  nuisqucradin},'  was  at  the  kirk 
on  the  Sunday  followinjj;  her  adventure  with  Mr.  MelconiL, 
and  it  was  with  a  sore  difficulty  that  !  v  ould  keep  my  eyes  off 
her,  even  in  prayer ;  and  when  the  kirk  skailcd,  she  walked 
before  him,  spreading  all  her  grandeur  to  catch  his  eye  in  such 
a  manner  as  had  not  been  seen  or  heard  of  since  the  prank 
that  Lady  Macadam  played  Miss  Betty  Wudrife. 

Any  other  but  Mr.  Melcomb  would  have  been  provoked  by 
the  fool's  folly,  but  he  humoured  her  wit,  and,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  the  whole  people,  presented  her  his  hand,  and 
allemandcd  her  along  in  a  manner  that  should  not  have  been 
seen  in  any  street  out  of  a  king's  <  ourt,  and  far  less  on  the 
Lord's  day.  lUit  alas !  this  sport  did  not  last  long.  Mr. 
Melcomb  had  come  from  England  to  be  married  to  his  cousin, 
Miss  Virginia  Cayenne,  and  poor  daft  Meg  never  heard  of  it 
till  the  banns  for  their  purpose  of  marriage  was  read  out  by 
Mr.  Lorimorc  on  the  Sabbath  after.  The  words  were  scarcely 
out  of  his  mouth,  when  the  simple  and  innocent  natural  gave  a 
loud  shriek,  that  terrified  the  whole  congregation,  and  ran  out 
of  the  kirk  demented.  There  was  no  more  finery  for  poor 
Meg  ;  Init  she  went  and  sat  opposite  to  the  windows  of  Mr. 
Cayenne's  house,  where  Mr.  Melcomb  was,  with  clasped  hands 
and  beseeching  eyes,  like  a  monumental  statue  in  alabaster, 
and  no  entreaty  could  tirive  her  away.  Mr.  Melcomb  sent 
her  Hioney,  and  the  bride  many  a  fine  thing,  but  Meg  flung 
them  from  her,  and  clasped  her  hands  again,  and  still  sat. 
Mr.  Cayenne  would  have  let  loose  the  house-dog  on  her,  but 
was  not  permitted. 

In  the  evening  it  began  to  rain,  and  they  thought  that  and 
the  coming  darkness  would  drive  her  away,  but  when  the 
servants  looked  out  before  barring  the  doors,  there  she  was  in 
the  same  jiosture.  I  was  to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony 
at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  for  the  young  pair  were  to  go 
that  night  to  Edinburgh  ;  and  when  I  went,  there  was  Meg 
sitting  looking  at  the  windows  with  her  hands  clasped.  When 
she  saw  me  she  gave  a  shrill  cry,  and  took  me  by  the  hand, 
and  wised  me  to  go  back,  crying  out  in  a  heart-breaking  voice, 
*  Oh,  sir  !  No  yet — no  yet !  He'll  maybe  draw  back  and  think 
of  a  far  truer  bride.'  I  was  wae  for  her,  and  very  angry  with 
the  servants  for  laughing  at  the  fond  folly  of  the  ill-less  thing. 

When  the  marriage  was  over,  and  the  carriage  at  the  door, 

146 


ANNALS  OK  Tllli  I'AKISIl 


the  bridcjrroom  Iiandccl  in  the  bride.  Poor  Mcr  s;i\v  this, 
and  jumping;  up  froni  wlierc  she  sat,  was  at  his  side  hkc  a 
spirit,  as  he  was  strppin^  in,  and  taking  him  by  the  hand,  she 
looked  in  his  face  so  piteously,  that  every  heart  was  sorrowful, 
for  she  c(  uld  say  nothinj;.  When  he  pulled  away  his  hand, 
and  the  door  vvas  shut,  she  si')od  as  if  she  had  bcin  charnicii 
to  the  spot,  and  saw  the  chaise  drive  away.  All  hat  were 
about  the  door  then  spoke  to  her,  but  she  heard  us  not.  At 
last  she  ga\  e  a  deep  sigh,  and  the  water  i  oming  into  her  eye, 
she  said,  *The  worm — the  worm  is  my  bonny  bridegroom,  and 
Jenny  with  tl  e  inany-fcct  my  bridal  maid.  The  mill-dam 
water's  the  wine  o'  the  wedding,  and  the  rlay  and  the  clod 
shall  be  my  bedding.  A  lang  night  is  meet  for  a  bridal,  but 
none  shall  be  Linger  than  mine.'  In  saying  ^  hi.  Ii  words,  she 
fled  from  among  us,  with  heels  like  the  wind.  The  servants 
pursued,  but  long  before  they  could  stop  her,  she  was  past 
redemption  in  the  deepest  plumb  of  the  <  otton-mill  dam. 

Few  deaths  had  for  many  a  day  hapjjencd  in  the  parish  to 
cause  so  much  sorrow  as  that  of  this  poor  silly  creature.  She 
was  a  sort  of  household  familiar  among  us,  and  there  was 
much  like  the  inner  side  of  wisdom  in  the  pattern  of  her 
sayings,  many  of  w  hich  arc  still  preserved  as  proverbs. 


iHi 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 
Year  1798 

A  dearth — Mr.  Cayenne  takes  measures  to  mitigate  the  evil — He  receives 
kindly  some  Irish  refugees — Hts  dauglUer's  marriage. 


This  was  one  of  the  heaviest  years  in  the  whole  course  of  my 
ministry.  The  spring  was  slow  of  coming,  and  cold  and  wet 
when  it  did  come  ;  the  dibs  were  lull,  the  roads  foul,  and 
the  ground  that  should  have  been  dry  at  the  seed-time  was 
as  claggy  as  clay  and  clung  to  the  harrow.  The  labour  of 
man  and  beast  was  thereby  augmented,  and  all  nature  being 
in  a  state  of  sluggish  indisposition,  it  was  evident  to  every  eye 
of  experience  that  there  would  be  a  great  disappointment  to 
the  hopes  of  the  husbandman. 

147 


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ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

Foreseeing  this  I  gathered  the  opinion  of  all  the  most 
sagacious  of  my  parishioners,  and  consulted  with  them  for  a 
provision  against  the  evil  day,  and  we  spoke  to  Mr.  Cayenne 
on  the  subject,  for  he  had  a  talent  by  common  in  matters  of 
mercantile  management.  It  was  amazing,  considering  his  hot 
temper,  with  what  patience  he  heard  the  grounds  of  our 
apprehension,  and  how  he  questioned  and  sifted  the  experience 
of  the  old  farmers,  till  he  was  thoroughly  convinced  that  all 
similar  seed-times  were  ever  followed  by  a  short  crop.  He 
then  said,  that  he  would  prove  himself  a  better  friend  to  the 
parish  than  he  was  thought.  Accordingly,  as  he  afterwards 
told  me  himself,  he  wrote  off  that  very  night  to  his  corre- 
spondents in  America  to  buy  for  his  account  all  the  wheat  and 
flour  they  could  get,  and  ship  it  to  arrive  early  in  the  fall ; 
and  he  bought  up  likewise  in  countries  round  the  Baltic  great 
store  of  victual,  and  he  brought  in  two  cargoes  to  Irville  on 
purpose  for  the  parish,  against  the  time  of  need,  making  for 
the  occasion  a  girnel  of  one  of  the  warehouses  of  the  cotton- 
mill. 

The  event  came  to  pass  as  had  been  foretold ;  the  harvest 
fell  short,  and  Mr.  Cayenne's  cargoes  from  America  and  the 
Baltic  came  home  in  due  season,  by  which  he  made  a  terrible 
power  of  money,  clearing  thousands  on  thousands  by  post 
after  post — making  r^ore  profit,  as  he  said  himself,  in  the 
course  of  one  month,  he  believed,  than  ever  was  made  by  any 
individual  within  the  kingdom  of  Scotland  in  the  course  of  a 
year.  He  said,  however,  that  he  might  have  made  more  if  he 
had  bought  up  the  corn  at  home,  but  being  convinced  by  us 
that  there  would  be  a  scarcity,  he  thought  it  his  duty  as  an 
honest  man  to  draw  from  the  stores  and  granaries  of  foreign 
countries,  by  which  he  was  sure  he  would  serve  his  countiy, 
and  be  abundantly  rewarded.  In  short,  we  all  reckoned  him 
another  Joseph  when  he  opened  his  girnels  at^  the  cotton-mill, 
and  after  distributing  a  liberal  portion  to  the  poor  and  needy, 
selling  the  remainder  at  an  easy  rate  to  the  generality  of  the 
people.  Some  of  the  neighbouring  parishes,  however,  were 
angry  that  he  would  not  serve  them  likewise,  and  called  him 
a  wicked  and  extortionate  forestaller ;  but  he  made  it  plain  to 
the  meanest  capacity  that  if  he  did  not  circumscribe  his 
dispensation  to  our  own  bounds  it  would  be  as  nothing.  So 
that,  although  he  brought  a  wonderful  prosperity  in  by  the 

148 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

cotton-mill,  and  a  plenteous  supply  of  corn  in  a  time  of  famine, 
doing  more  in  these  things  for  the  people  than  all  the  other  heri- 
tors had  done  from  the  beginning  of  time,  he  was  much  reviled  ; 
even  his  bounty  was  little  esteemed  by  my  people,  because  he 
took  a  moderate  profit  on  what  he  sold  to  them.  Perhaps, 
however,  these  prejudices  might  be  partly  owing  to  their  di-  like 
of  his  hasty  temper,  at  least  I  am  willing  to  think  so,  for  it 
would  grieve  me  if  they  were  really  ungrateful  for  a  benefit 
that  made  the  pressure  of  the  time  lie  but  lightly  on  them. 

The  alarm  of  the  Irish  rebellion  in  this  yeur  was  likewise 
another  source  of  affliction  to  us,  for  many  of  the  gentry 
coming  over  in  great  straits,  especially  ladies  and  their  chil- 
dren, and  some  of  them  in  the  hurry  of  their  flight  having 
but  little  ready  money,  were  very  ill  off.  Some  four  or  five 
families  came  to  the  Cross  Keys  in  this  situation,  and  the 
conduct  of  Mr.  Cayenne  to  them  was  most  exemplary.  He 
remembered  his  own  haste  with  his  family  from  Virginia,  when 
the  Americans  rebelled  ;  and  immediately  on  hearing  of  these 
Irish  refugees,  he  waited  on  them  with  his  wife  and  daughter, 
supplied  them  with  money,  invited  them  to  his  house,  made 
ploys  to  keep  up  their  spirits,  while  the  other  gentry  stood 
back  till  they  knew  something  of  the  strangers. 

Among  these  destitute  ladies  was  a  Mrs.  Desmond  and  her 
two  daughters,  a  woman  of  a  most  august  presence,  being 
indeed  more  like  one  ordained  to  reign  over  a  kingdom,  than 
for  household  purposes.  The  Miss  Desmonds  were  only 
entering  their  teens,  but  they  also  had  no  ordinary  stamp 
upon  them.  What  made  this  party  the  more  particular,  was 
on  account  of  Mr.  Desmond,  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  united 
man  with  the  rebels,  and  it  was  known  his  son  was  deep  in 
their  plots  ;  yet  although  this  was  all  told  to  Mr.  Cayenne 
by  some  of  the  other  Irish  ladies  who  were  of  the  loyal 
connection,  it  made  no  difference  with  him,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
he  acted  as  if  he  thought  the  Desmonds  the  most  of  all  the 
refugees  entitled  to  his  hospitable  civilities.  This  was  a 
wonderment  to  our  strait-laced  narrow  lairds,  as  there  was 
not  a  man  of  such  strict  government  principles  in  the  whole 
country-side  as  Mr.  Cayenne :  but  he  said  he  carried  his 
political  principles  only  to  the  camp  and  the  council.  '  To  the 
hospital  and  the  prison,'  said  he,  '  I  take  those  of  a  man ' — 
which  was  almost  a  Christian  doctrine,  and  from  that  declara- 

149 


I! 


|!|| 


1 1  (t 


i  m 


i 

I 


■  -I, 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


'  il 


ill 


tion  Mr.  Cayenne  and  me  began  again  to  draw  a  little  more 
cordially  together ;  although  he  had  still  a  very  imperfect 
sense  of  religion,  which  I  attributed  to  his  being  born  in 
America,  where  even  as  yet,  I  am  told,  they  have  but  a  scanty 
sprinkling  of  grace. 

But  before  concluding  thij  year,  I  should  tell  the  upshot 
of  the  visitation  of  the  Irish,  although  it  did  not  take  place 
until  some  time  after  the  pectce  with  France. 

In  the  putting  down  of  the  rebels  Mr.  Desmond  and  his 
son  made  their  escape  to  Paris,  where  they  staid  till  the 
Treaty  was  signed,  by  which,  for  several  years  after  the  return 
to  Ireland  of  the  grand  lady  and  her  daughters,  as  Mrs. 
Desmond  was  called  by  our  commonality,  we  heard  nothing 
of  them.  The  other  refugees  repaid  Mr.  Cayenne  his  money 
with  thankfulness,  and  on  their  restoration  to  their  homes,  could 
not  sufficiently  express  their  sense  of  his  kindness.  But  the 
silence  and  seeming  ingratitude  of  the  Desmonds  vexed  him  ; 
and  he  could  not  abide  to  hear  the  Irish  rebellion  mentioned 
without  flying  into  a  passion  against  the  rebels,  which  everybody 
knew  was  owing  to  the  ill  return  he  had  received  from  that 
family.  However,  one  afternoon,  just  about  half  an  hour  before 
his  wonted  dinner  hour,  a  grand  equipage,  with  four  horses  and 
outriders,  stopped  at  his  door,  and  who  was  in  it  but  Mrs. 
Desmond  and  an  elderly  man,  and  a  young  gentleman  with 
an  aspect  like  a  lord.  It  was  her  husband  and  son.  They 
had  come  from  Ireland  in  all  their  state  on  purpose  to  repay 
with  interest  the  money  Mr.  Cayenne  had  counted  so  long 
lost,  and  to  express  in  person  the  perpetual  obligation  which 
he  had  conferred  upon  the  Desmond  family,  in  all  time 
coming.  The  lady  then  told  him  that  she  had  been  so 
straitened  in  helping  the  poor  ladies  thi^t  it  was  not  in  her 
power  to  make  repayment  till  Desmond,  as  she  called  her 
husband,  came  home ;  and  not  choosing  to  assign  the  true 
reason,  lest  it  might  cause  trouble,  she  rather  submitted  to 
be  suspected  of  ingratitude  than  do  an  improper  thing. 

Mr.  Cayenne  was  transported  with  this  unexpected  return, 
and  a  friendship  grew  up  between  the  families  which  was 
aftc-wards  cemented  into  relationship  by  the  marriage  of  the 
young  Desmond  with  Miss  Caroline  Cayenne.  Some  in  the 
parish  objected  to  this  match,  Mrs.  Desmond  being  a  papist ; 
but  as  Miss  Caroline  had  received  an  Episcopalian  education, 

ISO 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

I  thought  it  of  no  consequence,  and  married  them  after  their 
family  chaplain  from  Ireland,  as  a  young  couple,  both  by 
beauty  and  fortune,  well  matched,  and  deserving  of  all 
conjugal  felicity. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Year  1799 
My  daughter's  marriage — Her  large  portion — Mrs.  Malcolm's  death. 

There  are  but  two  things  to  make  me  remember  this  year  ; 
the  first  was  the  marriage  of  my  daughter  Janet  with  the 
Reverend  Dr.  Kittlevvord  of  Swappington,  a  match  in  every 
way  commendable,  and  on  the  advice  of  the  third  Mrs. 
Balwhidder,  I  settled  a  thousand  pounds  down,  and  promised 
five  hundred  more  at  my  own  death,  if  I  died  before  my 
spouse,  and  a  thousand  at  her  death,  if  she  survivecT  me  ; 
which  was  the  greatest  portion  ever  minister's  daughter  had 
in  our  country-side.  In  this  year,  likewise,  I  advanced  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  for  my  son  in  a  concern  in  Glasgow, — all  was 
the  gathering  of  that  indefatigable  engine  of  industry  the 
second  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  whose  talents  her  successor  said 
were  a  wonder,  when  she  considered  the  circumstances  in 
which  I  had  been  left  at  her  death,  and  made  out  of  a  narrow 
stipend. 

The  other  memorable  was  the  death  of  Mrs.  Malcolm.  If 
ever  there  was  a  saint  on  this  earth  she  was  surely  ore.  She 
had  been  for  some  time  bedfast,  having  all  her  days  from  the 
date  of  her  widowhood  been  a  tender  woman  ;  but  no  change 
made  any  alteration  on  the  Christian  contentment  of  her  mind. 
She  bore  adversity  with  an  honest  pride,  she  toiled  in  the  day 
of  penury  and  affliction  with  thankfulness  for  her  earnings, 
although  ever  so  little.  She  bent  her  head  to  the  Lord  in 
resignation  when  her  first-born  fell  in  battle ;  nor  was  she 
puffed  up  with  vanity  when  her  daughters  were  married,  as  it 
was  said,  so  far  above  their  degree,  though  they  showed  it 
was  but  into  their  proper  sphere  by  their  demeanour  after. 
She  lived  to  see  her  second  son,  the  captain,  rise  into 
affluence,  married,   and   with  a  thriving   young   family ;  and 


i*  'ii 


h  *f 


I!    1 


n 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


she  had  the  very  great  satisfaction,  on  the  last  day  she  was 
able  to  go  to  church,  to  see  her  youngest  son  the  clergyman 
standing  in  my  pulpit,  a  doctor  of  divinity,  and  the  placed 
minister  of  a  richer  parish  than  mine.  Well  indeed  might  she 
have  said  on  that  day,  '  Lord,  let  thy  servant  depart  in  peace, 
for  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation.' 

For  some  time  it  had  been  manifest  to  all  who  saw  her 
that  her  latter  end  was  drawing  nigh  ;  and  therefore,  as  I  had 
kept  up  a  correspondence  with  her  daughters,  Mrs.  Macadam, 
and  Mrs.  Howard,  I  wrote  them  a  particular  account  of  her 
case,  whiuh  brought  them  to  the  clachan.  They  both  came  in 
their  own  carriages,  for  Colonel  Macadam  was  now  a  general, 
and  had  succeeded  to  a  great  property  by  an  English  uncle, 
his  mother's  brother  ;  and  Captain  Howard,  by  the  death  of  his 
father,  was  also  a  man,  as  it  was  said,  with  a  lord's  living. 
Robert  Malcolm,  her  son  the  captain,  was  in  the  West  Indies 
at  the  time,  but  his  wife  came  on  the  first  summons,  as  did 
William  the  minister. 

They  all  arrived  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  at 
seven  a  message  came  for  me  and  Mrs.  Balwhidder  to  go  over 
to  them,  which  we  did,  and  found  the  strangers  seated  by  the 
heavenly  patient's  bedside.  On  my  entering  she  turned  her 
eyes  towards  me  and  said,  '  Bear  witness,  sir,  that  I  die  thank- 
ful for  an  extraordinary  portion  of  temporal  mercies.  The 
heart  of  my  youth  was  withered  like  the  leaf  that  is  seared 
with  the  lightning,  but  in  my  children  I  have  received  a  great 
indemnification  for  the  sorrows  of  that  trial.'  She  then 
requested  me  to  pray,  saying,  '  No,  let  it  be  a  thanksgiving. 
My  term  is  out,  and  I  have  nothing  more  to  hope  or  fear  from 
the  good  or  evil  of  this  world.  But  I  have  had  ii.uch  to  make  me 
grateful ;  therefore,  sir,  return  thanks  for  the  time  I  have  been 
spared,  for  the  goodness  granted  so  long  unto  me,  and  the 
gentle  hand  with  which  the  way  from  this  world  is  smoothed 
for  my  passing.' 

There  was  something  so  sweet  and  consolatory  in  the  way 
she  said  this,  that  although  it  moved  all  present  to  tears,  they 
were  tears  without  the  wonted  bitterness  of  grief.  Accord- 
ingly, I  knelt  down  and  did  as  she  had  required,  and  there 
was  a  great  stillness  while  I  prayed  ;  at  the  conclusion  we 
looked  to  the  bed,  but  the  spirit  had  in  the  meantime  departed, 
and  there  was  nothmg  remaining  but  the  clay  tenement. 

152 


ANNATES  OF  THE  TARISII 


It  was  expected  by  the  parish,  considering  the  vast  aflluence 
of  the  daughters,  that  tliere  w  ould  have  been  a  grand  funeral, 
and  Mrs.  Howard  thought  it  was  necessary  ;  but  her  sister, 
who  had  from  her  youth  upward  a  superior  discernment  of 
propriety,  said,  '  No,  as  my  mother  has  hved  so  shall  be  her 
end.'  Accordingly,  everybody  of  any  respect  in  the  clachan 
was  invited  to  the  funeral ;  but  ncme  of  the  gentry,  saving 
only  such  as  had  been  numbered  among  the  acquaintance  of 
the  deceased.  But  Mr.  Cayenne  came  unbidden,  saying  to 
me,  that  aUhough  he  did  not  know  Mrs.  Malcolm  personally, 
he  had  often  heard  she  was  an  amiable  woman,  and  therefore 
he  thought  it  a  proper  compliment  to  her  family,  who  were  out 
of  the  parish,  to  show  in  what  respect  she  was  held  among  us  ; 
for  he  was  a  man  that  would  take  his  own  way,  and  do  what 
he  thought  was  right,  heedless  alike  of  blame  or  approbation. 

If,  however,  the  funeral  was  plain,  though  respectable,  the 
ladies  distributed  a  liberal  sum  among  the  poor  families  ;  but 
before  they  went  away,  a  silent  token  of  their  mother's  virtue 
came  to  light,  which  was  at  once  a  source  of  sorrow  and 
pleasure.  Mrs.  Malcolm  was  first  well  provided  by  the 
Macadams,  afterwards  the  Howards  settled  on  her  an  equal 
annuity,  by  which  she  spent  her  latter  days  in  great  comfort. 
Many  a  year  before,  she  had  repaid  Provost  Maitland  the 
money  he  sent  her  in  the  day  of  her  utmost  distress,  and  at 
this  period  he  was  long  dead,  having  died  of  a  broken  heart 
at  the  time  of  his  failure.  From  that  time  his  widow  and 
her  daughters  had  been  in  very  straitened  circumstances,  but 
unknown  to  all  but  herself,  and  Him  from  whom  nothing  is 
hid,  Mrs.  Malcolm  from  time  to  time  had  sent  them,  in  a 
blank  letter,  an  occasional  note  to  the  young  ladies  to  buy  a 
gown.  After  her  death,  a  bank  bill  for  a  sum  of  money,  her 
o\'/n  savings,  was  found  in  her  scrutoire,  with  a  note  of  her 
own  writing  pinned  to  the  same,  stating,  that  the  amount  being 
more  than  she  had  needed  for  herself,  belonged  of  right  to 
those  who  had  so  generously  provided  for  her,  but  as  they 
were  not  in  want  of  such  a  trifle,  it  would  be  a  token  of  respect 
to  her  memory,  if  they  would  give  the  bill  to  Mrs.  Maitland 
and  her  daughters,  which  was  done  with  a  most  glad  alacrity  ; 
and,  in  the  doing  of  it,  the  private  kindness  was  brought  to 
light. 

Thus  ended  the  history  of  Mrs.   Malcolm,  as  connected 

153 


■'I! 

.'1)1 

I  J 

!:lt 


I 
I 


■s;4( 


if' 


5  11 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

with  our  Parish  Annals.  Her  house  was  sold,  and  is  the  same 
now  inhabited  by  the  mill-wright,  Mr.  Periffcry,  and  a  neat 
house  it  still  is,  for  the  possessor  is  an  Englishman,  and  the 
English  have  an  uncommon  taste  for  snod  houses  and  trim 
gardens ;  but,  at  the  time  it  was  built,  there  was  not  a  better 
in  the  town,  though  it's  now  but  of  the  second  class.  Yearly 
we  hear  both  from  Mrs.  Macadam  and  her  sister,  with  a  five- 
pound  note  from  each  to  the  poor  of  the  parish,  as  a  token  of 
their  remembrance  ;  but  they  are  far  off,  and  were  anything 
ailing  me,  I  suppose  the  gift  will  not  be  mtinued.  As  for 
Captain  Malcolm,  he  has  proved,  in  many  ways,  a  friend  to 
such  of  our  young  men  as  have  gone  to  sea.  He  has  now 
left  it  off  himself,  and  settled  at  London,  where  he  latterly 
sailed  from,  and  I  understand  is  in  a  great  way  as  a  ship- 
owner. These  things  I  have  thought  it  fitting  to  record,  and 
will  now  resume  my  historical  narration. 


CHAPTER   XLI 


Year  1800 


Return  ot  an  inclination  towards  political  tranquillity — Death  of 
the  schoolmistress. 


The  same  quietude  and  regularity  that  marked  the  progress 
of  the  last  year  continued  throughout  the  whole  of  this.  We 
sowed  and  reaped  in  tranquillity,  though  the  sough  of  distant 
war  came  heavily  from  a  distance.  The  cotton-mill  did  well 
for  the  company,  and  there  was  a  sobriety  in  the  minds  of  the 
spinners  and  weavers,  which  showed  that  the  crisis  of  their 
political  distemperature  was  over ; — there  was  something  more 
of  the  old  prudence  in  men's  reflections ;  and  it  was  plain  to 
me  that  the  elements  of  reconciliation  were  coming  together 
throughout  the  world.  The  conflagration  of  the  French 
Revolution  was  indeed  not  extinguished,  but  it  was  evidently 
burning  out,  and  their  old  reverence  for  the  Grand  Monarque 
was  beginning  to  revive  among  them,  though  they  only  called 
him  a  Consul.  Upon  the  king's  fast  I  preached  on  this 
subject ;  and  when  the  peace  was  concluded,  I  got  great  credit 

IS4 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

for  my  foresight,  but  there  was  no  merit  in't.  F  had  only 
lived  longer  than  the  most  of  those  around  me,  and  had  been 
all  my  days  a  close  observer  of  the  signs  of  the  times  ;  so  that 
what  was  lightly  called  prophecy  and  prediction,  were  but  a 
probability  that  experience  had  taught  me  to  discern. 

In  the  affairs  of  the  parish,  the  most  remarkable  generality 
(for  we  had  no  particular  catastrophe)  was  a  great  death  of 
old  people  in  the  spring,  \mong  others.  Miss  Sabrina,  the 
schoolmistress,  paid  the  deot  of  nature,  but  we  could  now 
better  spare  her  than  we  did  her  predecessor  ;  for  at  Caycnne- 
ville  there  was  a  broken  manufacturer's  wife,  an  excellent 
teacher,  and  a  genteel  and  modernised  woman,  who  took  the 
better  order  of  children  ;  and  Miss  Sabrina  having  been  long 
frail  (for  she  was  never  stout),  a  decent  and  discreet  carlin, 
Mrs.  M'Caffie,  the  widow  of  a  custom-house  officer,  that  was 
a  native  of  the  parish,  set  up  another  for  plainer  work.  Her 
opposition,  Miss  Sabrina  did  not  mind,  but  she  was  sorely 
displeased  at  the  interloping  of  Mrs.  Pirn  at  Cayenneville,  and 
some  said  it  helped  to  kill  her — of  that,  nowever,  I  am  not 
so  certain,  for  Ur.  Tanzey  had  told  me  in  the  winter,  that  he 
thought  the  sharp  winds  in  March  would  blow  out  her  canaic, 
as  it  was  burnt  to  the  snuff;  accordingly  she  took  her  de- 
parture from  this  life,  on  the  twenty-fifth  day  of  that  month, 
after  there  had,  for  some  days  prior,  been  a  most  cold  and 
piercing  east  wind. 

Miss  Sabrina,  who  was  always  an  oddity  and  aping 
grandeur,  it  was  found,  had  made  a  will,  leaving  her  gatherings 
to  her  favourites,  with  all  regular  formality.  To  one  she 
bequeathed  a  gown,  to  another  this,  and  a  third  that,  and  to 
me,  a  pair  of  black  silk  stockings.  I  was  amazed  when  I 
heard  this  ;  but  judge  what  I  felt,  when  a  pair  of  old  marrow- 
less  stockings,  darned  in  the  heel,  and  not  whole  enough  in  the 
legs  to  make  a  pair  of  mittens  to  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  were 
delivered  to  me  by  her  executor  Mr.  Caption,  the  lawyer. 
Saving,  however,  this  kind  of  flummery,  Miss  Sabrina  was  a 
harmless  creature,  and  could  quote  poetry  in  discourse  more 
glibly  than  texts  of  Scripture — her  father  having  spared  no 
pains  on  her  mind  ;  as  for  her  body,  it  could  not  be  mended  ; 
but  that  was  not  her  fault. 

After  her  death,  the  Session  held  a  consultation,  and  we 
agreed  to  give  the  same  salary  that  Miss  Sabrina  enjoyed  to 

155 


I    \ 
I     4ii«  j 


"ill 


il 


M 


if  I 


i 


'  A  pair  of  old  vtarroivless  stockinets' 


ANNALS  Ol'  Till':  PARISH 

Mrs.  M'Caffic  ;  which  ,  ij^crcd  Mr.  Cayenne,  who  thoujijht  it 
should  have  been  j^ivcn  to  the  headmistress  ;  and  it  made  him 
give  Mrs.  I'irn,  out  of  his  own  pocket,  (U)uble  the  sum.  Ikit 
we  considered  that  the  parish  funds  were  for  the  poor  of  the 
parish,  and  therefore  it  was  our  duty  to  provide  for  tlie  in- 
struction of  the  poor  children.  Saving,  therefore,  those  few 
notations,  I  have  nothing  furtlier  to  say  concerning  the  topics 
and  progress  of  this  Ann.  Dom. 


CHAPTER    XLII 


!; 


I  1 


t  i 


Year  i8oi 
An  account  of  Colin  Mavis,  who  becomes  a  port. 


It  is  often  to  me  very  curious  food  for  meditation,  that  as  the 
parish  increased  in  population,  there  should  have  been  less 
cause  for  matter  to  record.  Things  that  in  former  days  would 
have  occasioned  great  discourse  and  cogitation  are  forgotten, 
with  the  day  in  which  they  happen  ;  and  there  is  no  longer 
that  searching  into  personalities  which  was  so  much  in  vogue 
during  the  first  epoch  of  my  ministry,  which  I  reckon  the 
period  before  the  American  war  ;  nor  has  there  been  any  such 
germinal  changes  among  us,  as  those  which  took  place  in  the 
second  epoch,  counting  backward  from  the  building  of  the 
cotton-mill  that  gave  rise  to  the  town  of  Cayenneville.  But 
still  we  were  not,  even  at  this  era,  of  which  this  Ann.  Dom.  is 
tiie  beginning,  without  occasional  personality,  or  an  event  that 
deserved  to  be  called  a  germinal. 

Some  years  before,  I  had  noted  among  the  callans  at  Mr. 
Lorimore's  school,  a  long  soople  laddie,  who,  like  all  bairns 
that  grow  fast  and  tall,  had  but  little  smeddum.  He  could 
not  be  called  a  dolt,  for  he  was  observant  and  thoughtful,  and 
given  to  asking  sagacious  questions  ;  but  there  was  a  sleepiness 
about  him,  especially  in  the  kirk,  and  he  gave,  as  the  master 
said,  but  little  application  to  his  lessons,  so  that  folk  thought 
he  would  turn  out  a  sort  of  gaunt-at-the-door,  more  mindful  of 
meat  than  work.  He  was,  however,  a  good-natured  lad  ;  and, 
when  I  was  taking  my  solitary  walks  of  meditation,  I  some- 

157 


1^ 


i\ 

■  ■  I  i 


''^1 

1;                 t, 

l! 

ANNALS  OK  Tin-:  I'AKISII 


limes  fell  in  with  him,  silting  alone  on  the  brae  by  the  water- 
side, and  sometimes  lying  on  the  grass,  with  his  hands  under 
liis  head,  on  the  sunny  green  knolls  where  Mr.  Cylindar,  the 
Iv.jglish  engineer  belonging  to  the  cotton-work,  has  built  the 
bonny  house  that  he  calls  iJnyhill  Cottage.  This  was  when 
Colin  Mavis  was  a  laddie  at  the  school,  and  when  I  spoke  to 
him,  I  was  surprised  at  the  discretion  of  his  answers,  so  that 
gradually  I  began  to  think  and  say,  that  there  was  more  about 
Colin  than  the  neighbours  knew.  Nothing  however,  for  many 
a  day,  came  out  to  his  advantage  ;  so  that  his  mother,  who 
was  by  this  time  a  widow  woman,  did  not  well  know  what  to 
do  with  him,  and  folk  pitied  her  heavy  handful  of  such  a 
droud. 

Hy  and  by,  however,  it  happened  that  one  of  the  young 
clerks  at  the  cotton-mill  shattered  his  right-hand  thumb  by  a 
gun  bursting  ;  and,  being  no  longer  able  to  write,  was  sent  into 
the  army  to  be  an  ensign,  which  caused  a  vacancy  in  the 
office ;  and,  through  the  help  of  Mr.  Cayenne,  I  got  Colin 
Mavis  into  the  place,  where,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  he 
provf^d  a  wonderful  cydent  and  active  lad,  and,  from  less  to 
more,  has  come  at  the  head  of  all  the  clerks,  and  deep  in  the 
confidcntials  of  his  employers.  But  although  this  was  a  great 
satisfaction  to  me,  and  to  the  widow  woman  his  mother,  it 
somehow  was  not  so  much  so  to  the  rest  of  the  parish,  who 
seemed,  as  it  were,  angry  that  poor  Colin  had  not  proved 
himself  such  a  dolt  as  they  had  expected  and  foretold. 

Among  other  ways  that  Colin  had  of  spending  his  leisure, 
was  that  of  playing  music  on  an  instrument,  in  which  it  was 
said  he  made  a  wonderful  proficiency  ;  but  being  long  and  thin, 
and  of  a  delicate  habit  of  body,  he  was  obligated  to  refrain 
from  this  recreation ;  so  he  betook  himself  to  books,  and  from 
reading,  he  began  to  try  writing  ;  but,  as  this  was  done  in  a 
corner,  nobody  jealoused  what  he  was  about,  till  one  evening 
ill  this  year,  he  came  to  the  manse,  and  asked  a  word  in 
private  with  me.  I  thought  that  perhaps  he  had  fallen  in  with 
a  lass  and  was  come  to  consult  me  anent  matrimony ;  but 
when  we  were  by  ourselves,  in  my  study,  he  took  out  of  his 
pocket  a  number  of  the  Scots  Magazine^  and  said,  '  Sir,  you 
have  been  long  pleased  to  notice  me  more  than  any  other 
body,  and  when  I  got  this,  I  could  not  refrain  from  bringing 
it  to  let  you  see't.     Ye  maun  ken,  sir,  that  I  have  been  long 

158 


ANNALS  OK  Till-:  PARISH 

in  secret  ^'Ivcn  to  trying  my  hand  at  ihynio,  aiul,  wishing'  io 
ascertain  what  others  thou^'ht  of  my  power  in  that  way,  1  sent, 
by  the  post,  twa  three  verses  to  the  Sto/s  Mai^azinc,  and  they 
have  not  only  inserted  them,  but  placed  them  in  the  body  of 
the  book,  in  such  a  way,  that  I  ke'.na  what  to  think.'  So  I 
looked  ai  the  magazine,  and  read  his  verses,  which  were 
certainly  very  well  made  verses,  for  one  who  had  no  regular 
education.  lUit  I  said  to  him,  as  the  (ireenock  magistrates 
said  to  John  Wilson,  the  author  of  Clyih\  when  they  stipulated 
with  him  to  give  up  the  art,  that  poem-making  was  a  profane 
and  unprofitable  trade,  and  he  would  do  well  to  turn  his  talent 
to  something  of  more  solidity,  which  he  promised  to  do  ;  but 
he  has  since  put  out  a  book,  whereby  he  has  angered  all  those 
that  had  foretold  he  would  be  a  do-nae-gude.  Thus  has  our 
parish  walked  sidy  for  sidy  with  all  the  national  improvements, 
having  an  author  of  its  own,  ami  getting  a  literary  character 
in  the  ancient  and  famous  republic  of  letters. 


CHAPTER    XLIII 


Year  1802 


?!    I 


) 


The  political  condition  of  the  world  felt  in  the  private  concerns  of  indivi- 
duals— Mr.  Cayenne  comes  to  ask  my  advice,  and  acts  according  to  it. 

♦  Experience  teaches  fools,'  was  the  first  moral  apothegm 
that  I  wrote  in  small  text,  when  learning  to  write  at  the  school, 
and  I  have  ever  since  thought  it  was  a  very  sensible  reflection 
For  assuredly,  as  year  after  year  has  flown  away  on  the  swift 
wings  of  time,  I  have  found  my  experience  mellowing,  and  my 
discernment  improving  ;  by  which  I  have,  in  the  afternoon  of 
life,  been  enabled  to  foresee  what  kings  and  nations  would  do, 
by  the  symptoms  manifested  within  the  bounds  of  the  society 
around  me.  Therefore,  at  the  beginning  of  the  spring  in  this 
Ann.  Dom.,  I  had  misgivings  at  the  heart,  a  fluttering  in  my 
thoughts,  and  altogether  a  strange  uneasiness  as  to  the  stability 
of  the  peace  and  harmony  that  was  supposed  to  be  founded 
upon  a  stedfast  foundation  between  us  and  the  French  people. 
What  my  fears  principally  took  their  rise  from  was  a  sort  of 

159 


«ff; 


■; 

jr 

K 

''■I 

i|i 

y 

)•}  '< 

f 

1 

1 

y\NNALS  OK  THE  PARISir 


compliancy,  on  the  part  of  those  in  power  and  authority,  to 
cultivate  the  old  relations  and  parts  between  them  and  the 
commonalty.  It  did  not  appear  to  me  that  this  proceeded 
from  any  known  or  decided  event,  for  I  read  the  papers  at 
this  period  daily,  but  from  some  general  dread  and  fear,  that 
was  begotten,  like  a  vapour,  out  of  the  fermentation  of  all  sorts 
of  opinions  ;  most  people  of  any  sagacity,  thinking  that  the 
state  of  tliings  in  France  being  so  much  of  an  antic,  poetical, 
and  play-actor-like  guise,  that  it  would  never  obtain  that 
respect,  far  less  that  reverence  from  the  world,  which  is 
necessary  to  the  muintcnanre  of  all  beneficial  government. 
The  consequence  of  this  was  a  great  distrust  between  man  and 
man,  and  an  aching  restlessness  among  those  who  had  their 
bread  to  bake  in  the  world.  Persons  possessing  the  power 
to  provide  for  their  kindred,  forcmg  them,  as  it  were,  down 
the  throats  of  those  who  were  dependent  on  them  in  business, 
a  bitter  morsel. 

But  the  pith  of  these  remarks  chiefly  applies  to  the  manu- 
facturing concerns  of  the  new  town  of  Cayemeville,  for  in  the 
clachan  we  lived  in  the  lea  of  the  dike,  and  wore  more  taken 
up  with  our  own  natural  rural  afifairs,  and  the  markets  for 
victual,  than  the  craft  of  merchandise.  The  only  man  in- 
terested in  business,  v/ho  walked  in  a  steady  manner  at  his 
old  pace,  though  he  sometimes  was  seen,  being  of  a  spunkie 
temper,  grinding  the  teeth  of  vexation,  was  Mr.  Cayenne 
himself. 

One  day,  however,  he  came  to  me  at  the  manse.  '  Doctor,' 
says  he,  for  so  he  always  called  me,  '  I  want  your  advice.  I 
never  choose  to  trouble  others  with  my  private  affairs,  but 
there  are  times  when  the  word  of  an  honest  man  may  do 
good.  I  need  not  tell  you,  that  when  I  declared  myself  a 
Royalist  in  America,  it  was  at  a  considerable  sacrifice.  I 
have,  however,  nothing  to  complain  of  against  government  on 
that  score,  but  I  think  it  damn'd  hard  that  those  personal 
connections,  whose  interests  I  preserved,  to  the  detriment  of 
my  own,  should,  in  my  old  age,  make  such  an  ungrateful  return. 
By  the  steps  I  took  prior  to  quitting  America,  I  saved  the 
property  of  a  great  mercantile  concern  in  London.  In  return 
for  that,  they  took  a  share  with  me,  and  for  me,  in  the  cotton- 
mill  ;  and  being  here  on  the  spot  as  manager,  I  have  both 
made  and  saved  them  money.     I  have,  no  doubt,  bettered  my 

1 60 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


to 


own  fortune  in  the  meantime.  Would  you  believe  it,  doctor, 
they  have  written  a  letter  to  me,  saying,  that  they  wish  to 
provide  for  a  relation,  and  requiring  me  to  give  up  to  him  a 
portion  of  my  share  in  the  concern — a  pretty  sort  of  providing 
this,  at  another  man's  expense.  But  I'll  be  damn'd  if  I  do 
any  such  thing.  If  they  want  to  provide  for  their  friend,  let 
them  do  so  from  themselves,  and  not  at  my  cost.  What  is 
your  opinion  ? ' 

This  appeared  to  me  a  very  weighty  concern,  and  not  being 
versed  in  mercantile  dealing,  I  did  not  well  know  what  to  say ; 
but  I  reflected  for  some  time,  and  then  I  replied,  'As  far,  Mr. 
Cayenne,  as  my  observation  has  gone  in  this  world,  I  think 
that  the  giffs  and  the  gaffs  nearly  balance  one  another  ;  and  when 
they  do  not,  there  is  a  moral  defect  on  the  failing  side.  If  a 
man  long  gives  his  labour  to  his  employer,  and  is  paid  for  that 
labour,  it  might  be  said  that  both  are  equal,  but  I  say  no.  For 
it's  in  human  nature  to  be  prompt  to  change  ;  and  the  employer, 
having  always  more  in  his  power  than  his  servant  or  agent,  it 
seems  to  me  a  clear  case,  that  in  the  course  of  a  number  of 
years,  the  master  of  the  old  servant  is  the  obligated  of  the 
two  ;  and,  therefore,  I  say,  in  the  first  place,  in  your  case  there 
is  no  tie  or  claim,  by  which  you  may,  in  a  moral  sense,  be 
called  upon  to  submit  to  the  dictates  of  yo^r  London  corre- 
spondents ;  but  there  is  a  reason,  in  the  naiure  of  the  thing 
and  case,  by  which  you  may  ask  a  favour  from  them.  So,  the 
advice  I  would  give  you  would  be  this,  write  an  answer  to 
their  letter,  and  tell  them,  that  you  have  no  objection  to  the 
taking  in  of  a  new  partner,  but  you  think  it  would  be  proper 
to  re'  ise  all  the  copartnery,  especially  as  you  have,  considering 
the  manner  in  which  you  have  advanced  the  busine-s:.,  been  of 
opinion  that  your  share  should  be  considerably  enlarged.' 

I  thought  Mr.  Cayenne  would  have  louped  out  of  his  skin 
with  mirth  at  this  notion,  and  being  a  prompt  man,  he  sat 
down  at  my  scrutoire,  and  answered  the  letter  which  gave  him 
so  much  uneasiness.  No  notice  was  taken  of  it  for  some  time  ; 
but,  in  the  course  of  a  month,  he  was  informed,  that  it  was 
not  considered  expedient  at  that  time  to  make  any  change  in 
the  Company.  I  thought  the  old  man  was  gone  by  himself 
Avhen  he  got  this  letter.  He  came  over  instantly  in  his 
chariot,  ^rom  the  cotton-mill  office  to  the  manse,  and  swore  an 
oath,  by  some  dreadful  name,  that  I  was  a  Solomon.  How 
M  i6i 


w 


.3! 

m 


1  ■;■ 


li 


I  t?; 

if  i'i ) 


%f:       'I 


fWr 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

ever,  I  only  mention  this  to  show  how  experience  had  instructed 
me,  and  as  a  sample  of  that  sinister  provisioning  of  friends 
that  was  going  on  in  the  world  at  this  time — all  owing,  as  I 
do  verily  believe,  to  the  uncertain  state  of  governments  and 
national  affairs. 

Besides  these  generalities,  I  observed  another  thing  working 
to  effect — mankind  read  more,  and  the  spirit  of  reflection  and 
reasoning  was  more  awake  than  at  any  time  within  my 
remembrance.  Not  only  was  there  a  handsome  bookseller's 
shop  in  Cayenneville,  with  a  London  newspaper  daily,  but 
magazines,  and  reviews,  and  other  new  publications. 

Till  this  year,  when  a  chaise  was  wanted,  we  had  to  send 
to  Irville  ;  but  Mr.  Toddy  of  the  Cross  Keys  being  in  at 
Glasgow,  he  bought  an  excellent  one  at  the  second  hand,  a 
portion  of  the  effects  of  a  broken  merchant,  by  which,  from 
that  period,  we  had  one  of  our  own  ;  and  it  proved  a  great 
convenience,  for  I,  who  never  but  twice  in  my  life  befoio  hired 
that  kind  of  commodity,  had  it  thrice  during  the  summer,  for  a 
bit  jaunt  with  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  to  divers  places  and  curiosities 
in  the  county,  that  I  had  not  seen  before,  by  which  our  ideas 
were  greatly  enlarged ;  indeed,  I  have  always  had  a  partiality 
for  travelling,  as  one  of  the  best  means  of  opening  the  faculty 
of  the  mind,  and  giving  clear  and  correct  notions  of  men  and 
things. 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

Year  1803 

Fear  of  an  invasion — Raising  of  volunteers  in  the  parish — The  young 
ladies  embroider  a  stand  of  colours  for  the  regiment. 


During  the  tempestuous  times  that  ensued,  from  the  death  of 
the  King  of  France,  by  the  hands  of  the  executioner,  in  1793-, 
there  had  been  a  political  schism  among  my  people  that  often 
made  me  very  uneasy.  The  folk  belonging  to  the  cotton-mill, 
and  the  muslin-weavers  in  Cayenneville,  were  afflicted  with  the 
itch  of  Jacobinism,  but  those  of  the  village  were  staunch  and 
true  'o   king  and  country;   and   some  of  the  heritors  were 

162 


but 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

desirous  to  make  volunteers  of  the  yoiing  men  of  them,  in  case 
of  anything  Hke  the  French  anarchy  and  confusion  rising  on 
the  side  of  the  manufacturers.  I,  however,  set  myself,  at  that 
time,  against  this,  for  I  foresaw  that  the  French  business  was 
but  a  fever  which  would  soon  pass;  off,  but  no  man  could  tell 
the  consequence  of  putting  arms  in  the  hands  of  neighbour 
against  neighbour,  though  it  was  but  in  the  way  of  policy. 

Bit  when  Bonaparte  gathered  his  host  foment  the  English 
coast,  and  the  government  at  London  were  in  terror  of  their 
lives  for  an  invasion,  all  in  the  country  saw  that  there  was 
danger,  and  I  was  not  backward  in  sounding  the  trumpet  to 
battle.  For  a  time,  however,  there  was  a  diffidence  among  us 
somewhere.  The  gentry  had  a  distrust  of  the  manufacturers, 
and  the  farming  lads  were  wud  with  impatience,  that  those 
who  should  be  their  leaders  would  not  come  forth.  I,  knowing 
this,  prepared  a  sermon  suitable  to  the  occasion,  giving  out 
from  the  pulpit  myself,  the  Sabbath  before  preaching  it,  that  it 
was  my  intent  on  the  next  Lord's  day  to  deliver  a  religious 
and  political  exhortation  on  the  present  posture  of  public 
affairs.     This  drew  a  vast  congregation  of  f»ll  ranks. 

I  trow  that  the  stoor  had  no  peace  in  the  stuffing  of  the 
pulpit  'n  that  day,  and  the  effect  was  very  great  and  ^peedy, 
for  next  morning  the  weavers  and  cotton-mill  folk  held  a 
meeting,  and  they,  being  skilled  in  the  ways  of  committees 
and  associating  together,  had  certain  resolutions  prepared,  by 
which  a  select  few  was  appointed  to  take  an  enrolment  of  all 
willing  in  the  parish  to  serve  as  volunteers  in  defence  of  their 
king  and  country,  and  to  concert  with  certain  gentlemen 
named  therein,  abo.'t  the  formation  of  a  corps,  of  which,  it  was 
an  understood  thing,  the  said  gentlemen  were  to  be  the  officers. 
The  whole  of  this  business  was  managed  with  the  height  of 
discretion,  and  the  weavers,  and  spinners,  and  farming  lads 
vied  with  one  another  who  should  be  first  on  the  list.  But 
that  which  the  most  surprised  me,  was  the  wonderful  sagacity 
of  the  committee  in  naming  the  gentlemen  that  should  be  the 
officers.  I  could  not  have  made  a  better  choice  myself,  for 
they  were  the  best  built,  the  best  bred,  and  the  best  natured 
in  the  parish.  In  short,  when  I  saw  the  bravery  that  was  in 
my  people,  and  the  spirit  of  wisdom  by  which  it  was  directed, 
I  said  in  my  heart,  The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us,  and  the 
adversary  shall  not  prevail. 

163 


y  1 


•»■  'M 


1\ 


^1 


III  „ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


The  number  of  valiant  men  which  at  that  time  placed  them- 
selves around  the  banners  of  their  country  was  so  great,  that 
the  government  would  not  accept  of  all  who  offered ;  so,  like 
as  in  other  parishes,  we  were  obligated  to  make  a  selection, 
which  was  likewise  done  in  a  most  judicious  manner,  all  men 
above  a  certain  age  being  reserved  for  the  defence  of  the 
parish,  in  the  day  when  the  young  might  be  called  to  England, 
to  fight  the  enemy. 

When  the  corps  was  formed,  and  the  officers  named,  they 
made  me  their  chaplain,  and  Dr.  Marigold  their  doctor.  He 
was  a  little  man  with  a  big  belly,  and  was  as  crouse  as  a 
bantam  cock ;  but  it  was  not  thought  he  could  do  so  well  in 
field  exercises,  on  which  account  he  was  made  the  doctor, 
although  he  had  no  repute  in  that  capacity,  in  comparison  with 
Dr.  Tanzey,  who  was  not  however  liked,  being  a  stiff-mannered 
man,  with  a  sharp  temper. 

All  things  having  come  to  a  proper  head,  the  young  ladies 
of  the  parish  resolved  to  present  the  corps  with  a  stand  of 
colours,  which  they  embroidered  themselves,  and  a  day  was 
fixed  for  the  presentation  of  the  same.  Never  was  such  a  day 
seen  in  Dalmailing.  The  sun  shone  brightly  on  that  scene  of 
bravery  and  grandeur,  and  far  and  near  the  country  folk  came 
flocking  in,  and  we  had  the  regimental  band  of  music  hired 
from  the  soldiers  that  were  in  Ayr  barracks.  The  very  first 
sound  o't  made  the  hair  on  my  old  grey  head  to  prickle  up, 
and  my  blood  to  rise  and  glow,  as  if  youth  was  coming  again 
into  my  veins. 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery  was  the  commandant,  and  he  came 
in  all  the  glory  of  war,  on  his  best  horse,  and  marched  at  the 
head  of  the  men,  to  the  green-head.  The  doctor  and  me  were 
the  rearguard :  not  being  able,  on  account  of  my  age,  and  his 
fatness,  to  walk  so  fast  as  the  quick-step  of  the  corps.  On  the 
field  we  took  our  place  in  front,  near  Sir  Hugh  and  the  ladies 
with  the  colours ;  and,  after  some  salutations,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  army,  Sir  Hugh  made  a  speech  to  the  men,  and 
then  Miss  Maria  Montgomery  came  forward,  with  her  sister 
Miss  Eliza,  and  the  other  ladies,  and  the  banners  were  unfurled, 
all  glittering  with  gold,  and  the  king's  arms  in  needlework. 
Miss  Maria  then  made  a  speech,  which  she  had  got  by  heart, 
but  she  was  so  agitated,  that  it  was  said  she  forgot  the  best 
part  of  it ;  however,  it  was  very  well  considering.     When  this 

164 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


was  done,  I  then  stepped  forward,  and  laying  my  hat  on  the 
ground,  every  man  and  boy  taking  off  theirs,  I  said  a  prayer, 
which  I  had  conned  most  carefully,  and  which  I  thought  the 
most  suitable  I  could  devise,  in  unison  with  Christian  prin- 
ciples, which  are  averse  to  the  shedding  of  blood  ;  and  I  par- 
ticularly dwelt  upon  some  of  the  specialities  of  our  situation. 

When  I  had  concluded,  the  volunteers  gave  three  great 
shouts,  and  the  multitude  answered  them  to  the  same  tune,  and 
all  the  instruments  of  music  sounded,  making  such  a  bruit,  as 
could  not  be  surpassed  for  grandeur — a  long  and  very  circum- 
stantial account  of  all  which  may  be  read  in  the  newspapers  of 
that  time. 

The  volunteers,  at  the  word  of  command,  then  showed  us 
the  way  they  were  to  fight  with  the  French,  in  the  doing  of 
which  a  sad  disaster  happened  ;  for  when  they  were  charging 
bayonets,  they  came  towards  us  like  a  flood,  and  all  the 
spectators  ran,  and  I  ran,  and  the  doctor  ran,  but  being  laden 
with  his  belly,  he  could  not  run  fast  enough,  so  he  lay  down, 
and  being  just  before  me  at  the  time,  I  tumbled  over  him, 
and  such  a  shout  of  laughter  shook  the  field  as  was  never 
heard. 

When  the  fatigues  of  the  day  were  at  an  end,  we  marched 
to  the  cotton-mill,  where,  in  one  of  the  warehouses,  a  vast 
table  was  spread,  and  a  dinner,  prepared  at  Mr.  Cayenne's  own 
expense,  sent  in  from  the  Cross  Keys,  and  the  whole  corps, 
with  many  of  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood,  dined  with 
great  jollity,  the  band  of  music  playing  beautiful  airs  all  the 
time.  At  night,  there  was  a  universal  dance,  gentle  and 
semple  mingled  together.  All  ivhich  made  it  plain  to  me,  that 
the  Lord,  by  this  unison  of  spirit,  had  decreed  our  national 
preservation ;  but  I  kept  this  in  my  own  breast,  lest  it  might 
have  the  effect  to  relax  the  vigilance  of  the  kingdom.  And  I 
should  note,  that  Colin  Mavis,  the  poetical  lad,  of  whom  I  have 
spoken  in  another  part,  made  a  song  for  this  occasion,  that 
was  very  mightily  thought  of,  having  in  it  a  nerve  of  valii^nt 
genius,  that  kindled  the  very  souls  of  those  that  heard  it. 


III 


'«5 


■  5o  he  lay  down,  and  I  tumbled  ovif-  /lim.' 


> 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER   XLV 

Year  1804 

The  Session  agrees  that  church  censures  shall  be  commuted  with  fines — 
Our  parish  has  an  opportunity  of  seeing  a  turtle,  which  is  sent  to  Mr. 
Cayenne — Some  fears  of  -jopery — Also  about  a  preacher  of  universal 
redemption — Report  of  a  French  ship  appearing  in  the  west,  which 
sets  the  volunteers  astir. 

In  conformity  with  the  altered  fashions  of  the  age,  in  this  year 
the  Session  came  to  an  understanding  with  me,  that  we  should 
not  inflict  the  common  church  censures  for  such  as  made 
themselves  liable  thereto ;  but  we  did  not  formally  promulge 
our  resolution  as  to  this,  wishing  as  long  as  possible  to  keep 
the  deterring  rod  over  the  heads  of  the  young  and  thoughtless. 
Our  motive,  on  the  one  hand,  was  the  disregard  of  the  manu- 
facturers in  Cayenneville,  who  were,  without  the  breach  of 
truth,  an  irreligious  people,  and,  on  the  other,  a  desire  to 
preserve  the  ancient  and  wholesome  admonitory  and  censorian 
jurisdiction  of  the  minister  and  elders.  We  therefore  laid  it 
down  as  a  rule  to  ourselves,  that,  in  the  case  of  transgressions 
on  the  part  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  new  district  of  Cayenne- 
ville, we  should  subject  them  rigorously  to  a  fine  ;  but  that  for 
the  farming  lads,  we  would  put  it  in  their  option  to  pay  the 
fine,  or  stand  in  the  kirk. 

We  conformed  also  in  another  matter  to  the  times,  by  con- 
senting to  baptize  occasionally  in  private  houses.  Hitherto  it 
had  been  a  strict  rule  with  me  only  to  baptize  from  the  pulpit. 
Other  parishes,  however,  had  long  been  in  the  practice  of  this 
relaxation  of  ancient  discipline. 

But  all  this  on  my  part  was  not  done  without  compunction  of 
spirit ;  for  I  was  of  opinion,  that  the  principle  of  Presbyterian 
integrity  should  have  been  maintained  to  the  uttermost. 
Seeing,  however,  the  elders  set  on  an  alteration,  I  distrusted  my 
own  judgment,  and  yielded  myself  to  the  considerations  that 
weighed  with  them ;  for  they  were  true  men,  and  of  a  godly 
honesty,  and  took  the  part  of  the  poor  in  all  contentions  with  the 
heritors,  often  to  the  hazard  and  damage  of  their  own  temporal 
welfare. 

167 


liii 


■1 
S 


•l> 


'i  ii 


i- 


■'\  i 


i 


'K 


II 


m 


ri  1 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

I  have  now  to  note  a  curious  thing,  not  on  account  of  its 
importance,  but  to  show  to  what  lengths  a  correspondence  had 
been  opened  in  the  parish  with  the  farthest  parts  of  the  earth. 
Mr.  Cayenne  got  a  turtle-fish  sent  to  him  from  a  Glasgow 
merchant,  and  it  was  living  when  it  came  to  the  Wheatrig  House, 
and  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  beasts  that  had  ever  been 
seen  in  our  country-side.  It  weighed  as  much  as  a  well-fed 
calf,  and  had  three  kinds  of  meat  in  its  body,  fish,  flesh,  and 
fowl,  and  it  had  four  v/ater-wings,  for  they  could  not  be 
properly  called  fins  ;  but  what  was  little  short  of  a  miracle  about 
the  creature,  happened  after  the  head  was  cutted  off,  when,  if  a 
finger  was  offered  to  it,  it  would  open  its  mouth  and  snap  at  it, 
and  all  this  after  the  carcase  was  divided  for  dressing. 

Mr.  Cayenne  made  a  feast  on  the  occasion  to  many  of  the 
neighbouring  gentry,  to  the  which  I  was  invited,  and  we  drank 
lime-punch  as  we  ate  the  turtle,  which,  as  I  understand,  is  the 
fasnion  in  practice  among  the  Glasgow  West  ludy  merchants, 
who  are  famed  as  great  hands  with  turtles  and  lime-punch.  But 
it  is  a  sort  of  food  that  I  should  not  like  to  fare  long  upon. 
I  was  not  right  the  next  day  ;  and  I  have  heard  it  said,  that, 
when  eaten  too  often,  it  has  a  tendency  to  harden  the  heart 
and  make  it  crave  for  greater  luxuries. 

But  the  story  of  the  turtle  is  nothing  to  that  of  the  Miss, 
which,  with  i  11  its  mummeries  and  abominations,  was  brought 
into  Cayenneville  by  an  Irish  priest  of  the  name  of  Father 
O'Grady,  who  was  confessor  to  some  of  the  poor  deluded  Irish 
labourers  about  the  new  houses  and  the  cotton-mill.  How  he 
had  the  impudence  to  set  up  that  memento  of  Satan,  the 
crucifix,  within  my  parish  and  jurisdiction,  was  what  I  never 
could  get  to  the  bottom  of;  but  the  soul  was  shaken  within 
me,  when,  on  the  Monday  after,  one  of  the  elders  came  to  the 
manse,  and  told  me,  that  the  old  dragon  of  Popery,  with  its 
seven  heads  and  ten  horns,  had  been  triumphing  in  Cayenne- 
ville on  the  foregoing  Lord's  day  !  I  lost  no  time  in  convening 
the  Session  to  see  what  was  to  be  done  ;  much,  however,  to 
my  surprise,  the  elders  recommended  no  step  to  be  taken,  but 
only  a  zealous  endeavour  to  greater  Christian  excellence  on 
our  part,  by  which  we  should  put  the  beast  and  his  worshippers 
to  shame  and  flight.  I  am  free  to  confess,  that,  at  the  time,  I 
did  not  think  this  the  wisest  counsel  which  they  might  have 
given  ;  for,  in  the  heat  of  my  alarm,  I  was  for  attacking  the 

1 68 


q 


'Mr.  Cayenne  got  a  turtle-Jish  sent  to  him,' 


■■tfw 


ill 


;•* 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


enemy  in  his  camp.  But  they  prudently  observed,  that  the 
days  of  religious  persecution  were  past,  and  it  was  a  comfort 
to  see  mankind  cherishing  any  sense  of  religion  at  all,  after 
the  vehement  infidelity  that  had  been  sent  abroad  by  the 
French  Republicans ;  and  to  this  opinion,  now  that  I  have 
had  years  to  sift  its  wisdom,  I  own  myself  a  convert  and 
proselyte. 

Fortunately,  however,  for  my  peace  of  mind,  there  proved 
to  be  but  five  Roman  Catholics  in  Cayentieville ;  and  Father 
O'Grady,  not  being  able  to  make  a  living  there,  packed  up  his 
Virgin  Marys,  saints,  and  painted  Agnuses  in  a  portmanteau, 
and  went  off  in  the  Ayr  Fly  one  morning  for  Glasgow,  where 
I  hear  he  has  since  met  with  all  the  encouragement  that  might 
be  expected  from  the  ignorant  and  idolatrous  inhabitants  of 
that  great  city. 

Scarcely  were  we  well  rid  of  Father  O'Grady,  when  another 
interloper  entered  the  parish.  He  was  more  dangerous,  in 
the  opinion  of  the  Session,  than  even  the  Pope  cf  Rome 
himself;  for  he  came  to  teach  the  flagrant  heresy  of  Universal 
Redemption,  a  most  consolatory  doctrine  to  the  sinner  that  is 
loth  to  repent,  and  who  loves  to  troll  his  iniquity  like  a  sweet 
morsel  under  his  tongue.  Mr.  Martin  Siftwell,  who  was  the 
last  ta'en  on  elder,  and  who  had  received  a  liberal  and  judicious 
education,  and  was,  moreover,  naturally  possessed  of  a  quick 
penetration,  observed,  in  speaking  of  this  new  doctrine,  that 
the  grossest  papist  sinner  might  have  some  qualms  of  fear 
after  he  had  bought  the  Pope's  pardon,  and  might  thereby  be 
led  to  a  reformation  of  life  ;  but  that  the  doctrine  of  universal 
redemption  was  a  bribe  to  commit  sin,  the  wickedest  mortal, 
according  to  it,  being  only  liable  to  a  few  thousand  years,  more 
or  less,  of  suffering,  which,  compared  with  eternity,  was  but  a 
momentary  pang,  like  having  a  tooth  drawn  for  the  toothache. 
Mr.  Siftwell  is  a  shrewd  and  clear-seeing  man  in  points  of 
theology,  and  I  would  trust  a  great  deal  to  what  he  says,  as  I 
have  not,  at  my  advanced  age,  such  a  mind  for  the  kittle 
crudities  of  polemical  investigation  that  I  had  in  my  younger 
years,  especially  when  I  was  a  student  in  the  Divinity  Hall  of 
Glasgow. 

It  will  be  seen  from  all  I  have  herein  recorded,  that,  in  the 
course  of  this  year,  there  was  a  general  resuscitation  of 
religious  sentiments  ;  for  what  happened  in  rny  parish  was  but 

170 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

a  type  and  index  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  We  had,  however, 
one  memorable  that  must  stand  by  itseh' ;  for  although  neither 
death  nor  bloodshed  happened,  yet  was  it  cause  of  the  fear  of 
both. 

A  rumour  reached  us  from  the  Clyde,  that  a  French  man- 
of-war  had  appeared  in  a  Highland  loch,  and  that  ail  the 
Greenock  volunteers  had  embarked  in  merchant-vessels  to 
bring  her  in  for  a  prize.  Our  volunteeis  were  just  jumping 
and  yowling,  like  chained  dogs,  to  be  at  her  too ;  but  the 
colonel.  Sir  Hugh,  would  do  nothing  without  orders  from  his 
superiors.  Mr.  Cayenne,  though  an  aged  man,  above  seventy, 
was  as  bold  as  a  lion,  and  came  forth  in  the  old  garb  of  an 
American  huntsman,  like,  as  I  was  told,  a  Robin  Hood  in  the 
play  is  ;  and  it  was  just  a  sport  to  see  him,  feckless  man, 
trying  to  march  so  crously  with  his  lean,  shaking  hands.  But 
the  whole  affair  proved  a  false  alarm,  and  our  men,  when  they 
heard  it,  were  as  well  pleased  thai  they  had  been  constrained 
to  sleep  in  their  warm  beds  at  home,  instead  of  lying  on  coils 
of  cables,  like  the  gallant  Greenock  sharp-shooters 


i1 
HI  'i 

!■ 


'A 


I  j 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

Year  1805 

Retrenchment  of  the  extravagant  expenses  usual  at  burials — I  use  an 
expedient  for  putting  even  the  second  service  out  of  fashion. 

For  som  time  I  had  meditated  a  reformation  in  the  parish, 
and  this  year  I  carried  the  same  into  effect.  I  had  often 
noticed  with  concern,  that,  out  of  a  mistaken  notion  of  paying 
respect  to  the  dead,  my  people  were  wont  to  go  to  great 
lengths  at  their  burials,  and  dealt  round  shortbread  and  sugar 
biscuit,  with  wine  and  other  confections,  as  if  there  had  been 
no  ha'd  in  their  hands ;  which  straitened  many  a  poor  family, 
making  the  dispensation  of  the  Lord  a  heavier  temporal 
calamity  than  it  should  naturally  have  been.  Accordingly,  on 
consulting  with  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  who  has  a  most  judicious 
judgment,  it  was  thought  that  my  interference  would  go  a  great 
way  to  lighten  the  evil.     I  therefore  advised  with  those  whose 

171 


';U: 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


friends  were  taken  from  them,  not  to  make  that  amplitude  of 
preparation  which  used  to  be  the  fashion,  nor  to  continue 
handing  about  as  long  as  the  folk  would  take,  but  only  at  the 
very  most  to  go  no  more  than  three  times  round  with  the 
service.  Objections  were  made  to  this,  as  if  it  would  be 
thought  mean  ;  but  I  put  on  a  stern  visage,  and  told  them, 
that  if  they  did  more  I  would  rise  up  and  rebuke  and  forbid 
the  extravagance.  So  three  services  became  the  uttermost 
modicum  at  all  burials.  This  was  doing  much,  but  it  was  not 
all  that  I  wished  to  do, 

I  considered  that  the  best  reformations  are  those  which 
proceed  step  by  step,  and  stop  at  that  point  where  the  consent 
to  what  has  been  established  becomes  general ;  and  so  I 
governed  myself,  and  therefore  interfered  no  farther  ;  but  I 
was  determined  to  set  an  example.  Accordingly,  at  the  very 
next  draigie,  after  I  partook  of  one  service,  I  made  a  bow 
to  the  servitors  and  they  passed  on,  but  all  before  me  had 
partaken  of  the  second  service  ;  some,  however,  of  those  after 
me  did  as  I  did,  so  I  foresaw  that  in  a  quiet  canity  way  I 
would  bring  in  the  fashion  of  being  satisfied  with  one  service, 
I  therefore,  from  that  time,  always  took  my  place  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  door,  where  the  chief  mourner  sat,  and  made  a 
point  of  nodding  away  the  second  service,  which  has  now 
grown  into  a  custom,  to  the  great  advantage  of  surviving 
relations. 

But  in  this  reforming  business  I  was  not  altogether  pleased 
with  our  poet ;  for  he  took  a  pawkie  view  of  my  endeavours, 
and  indited  a  ballad  on  the  subject,  in  the  which  he  makes  a 
clattering  carlin  describe  what  took  place,  so  as  to  turn  a  very 
solemn  matter  into  a  kind  of  derision.  When  he  brought  his 
verse  and  read  it  to  me,  I  told  him  that  I  thought  it  was  overly 
natural ;  for  I  could  not  find  another  term  to  designate  the 
cause  of  the  dissatisfaction  that  I  had  with  it ;  but  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  said  that  it  might  help  my  plan  if  it  were  made 
public,  so  upon  her  advice  we  got  some  of  Mr,  Lorimore's 
best  writers  to  make  copies  of  it  for  distribution,  which  was 
not  without  fruit  and  influence.  But  a  sore  thing  happened 
at  the  very  next  burial.  As  soon  as  the  nodding  away  of 
the  second  service  began,  I  could  see  that  the  gravity  of  the 
whole  meeting  was  discomposed,  and  some  of  the  irreverent 
young  chiels  almost  broke  out  into  even-down  laughter,  which 

172 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


M 


vexed  me  exceedingly.  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  howsoever,  romforted 
me  by  saying,  tli:iit  custom  in  time  would  make  it  familiar,  ami 
by  and  by  the  thing  would  pass  as  a  matter  of  course,  until 
one  service  would  be  all  that  folk  would  offer ;  and  truly  ihc 
thing  is  coming  to  that,  for  only  two  services  arc  now  handed 
round,  and  the  second  is  regularly  nodded  by. 


)    ' 


Mr 


CHAPTER   XLVII 


Year  1806 


The  deathbed  behaviour  of  Mr.  Cayenne — A  schism  in  the  parish, 
and  a  subscription  to  build  a  meeting-house. 

Mr.  Cayenne  of  Wheatrig  having  for  several  years  been  in  a 
declining  way,  partly  brought  on  by  the  consuming  fire  of  his 
furious  passion,  and  partly  by  the  decay  of  old  age,  sent  for 
me  on  the  evening  of  the  first  Sabbath  of  March  in  this  year. 
I  was  surprised  at  the  message,  and  went  to  the  Wheatrig 
House  directly,  where,  by  the  lights  in  the  windows  as  I  gaed 
up  through  the  policy  to  the  door,  I  saw  something  extra- 
ordinary was  going  on.  Sambo,  the  blackamoor  servant, 
opened  the  door,  and  without  speaking  shook  his  head  ;  for  he 
was  an  affectionate  creature,  and  as  fond  of  his  master  as  if 
he  had  been  his  own  father.  By  this  sign  I  guessed  that  the 
old  gentleman  was  thought  to  be  drawing  near  his  latter  end, 
so  I  walked  softly  after  Sambo  up  the  stair,  and  was  shown 
into  the  chamber  where  Mr.  Cayenne,  since  he  had  been 
confined  to  the  house,  usually  sat.  His  wife  had  been  dead 
some  years  before. 

Mr.  Cayenne  was  sitting  in  his  easy-chair,  with  a  white 
cotton  night-cap  on  his  head,  and  a  pillow  at  his  shoulders  to 
keep  him  straight.  But  his  head  had  fallen  down  on  his 
breast,  and  he  breathed  like  a  panting  baby.  His  legs  were 
swelled,  and  his  feet  rested  on  a  footstool.  His  face,  which 
was  wont  to  be  the  colour  of  a  peony  rose,  was  of  a  yellow 
hue,  with  a  patch  of  red  on  each  cheek  like  a  wafer,  and  his 
nose  was  shirpit  and  sharp,  and  of  an  unnatural  purple. 
Death  was  evidently  fighting  with  Nature  for  the  possession  of 

173 


■  I  M 


if' 


;]•! 


if' 


1 1 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


the  body.  '  Heaven  have  mercy  on  his  soul,'  said  I  to  my- 
self, as  I  sat  down  beside  him. 

When  I  had  been  seated  some  time,  the  power  was  £fiven 
him  to  raise  his  head  as  it  were  ajee,  and  he  looked  at  me 
with  the  tail  of  his  eye,  which  I  saw  was  glittering  and  glassy. 
'  Doctor,'  for  h(^  always  called  me  doctor,  though  I  am  not  of 
that  degree,  '  I  am  glad  to  see  you,'  were  his  words,  uttered 
with  some  difficulty. 

*  How  do  you  find  yourself,  sir  ? '  I  replied  in  a  sympathis- 
ing manner. 

'  Damned  bad,'  said  he,  as  if  I  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
suffering.  I  was  daunted  to  the  very  heart  to  hear  him  in 
such  an  unregenerate  state ;  but  after  a  short  pause  I  ad- 
dressed myself  to  him  again,  saying,  that  '  I  hoped  he  would 
soon  be  more  at  ease,  and  he  should  bear  in  mind  that  the 
Lord  chasteneth  whom  He  loveth.' 

'The  devil  take  such  love,'  was  his  awful  answer,  which 
was  to  me  as  a  blow  on  the  forehead  vvith  a  mell.  However, 
I  was  resolved  to  do  my  duty  to  the  miserable  sinner,  let 
him  say  what  he  would.  Accordingly,  I  stooped  towards 
him  with  my  hands  on  my  knees,  and  said  in  a  compassionate 
voice,  '  It's  very  true,  sir,  that  you  are  in  great  agony,  but  the 
goodness  of  God  is  without  bound.' 

'  Curse  me  if  I  think  so,  doctor,'  replied  the  dying  un- 
circumciscd  Philistine.  But  he  added  at  whiles,  his  breath- 
lessness  being  grievous,  and  often  broken  by  a  sore  hiccup, 
'  I  am,  however,  no  saint,  as  you  know,  doctor ;  so  I  wish 
you  to  put  in  a  word  for  me,  doctor ;  for  you  know  that  in 
these  times,  doctor,  it  is  the  duty  of  every  good  subject  to  die 
a  Christian.' 

This  was  a  poor  account  of  the  state  of  his  soul,  but  it  was 
plain  I  could  make  no  better  o't  by  entering  into  any  religious 
discourse  or  controversy  with  him,  he  being  then  in  the  last 
gasp  ;  so  I  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  him  with  great  sincerity, 
imploring  the  Lord,  as  an  awakening  sense  of  grace  to  the 
dying  man,  that  it  would  please  Him  to  lift  up,  though  it  were 
but  for  the  season  of  a  minute,  the  chastening  hand  which 
was  laid  so  heavily  upon  His  aged  servant ;  at  which  Mr. 
Cayenne,  as  if  indeed  the  hand  had  been  then  lifted,  cried  out, 
'  None  of  that  stuff,  doctor ;  you  know  that  I  cannot  call 
myself  His  servant.' 

174 


'  /  knelt  down  and  prayed /or  him  with  great  sincerity.' 


\ 

t  > '    1 

If 

1  •■■ 

■    li 


;  (. 


\ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

Was  ever  a  minister  in  his  praver  so  broken  in  upon  by  a 
perishing  sinner !  However,  I  had  the  weight  of  a  duty  upon 
me,  and  made  no  reply,  but  continued,  *Thou  hearest,  O 
Lord !  how  he  confesses  his  unworthiness.  Let  not  Thy 
compassion,  therefore,  be  withheld,  but  verify  to  him  ihe  words 
that  I  have  spoken  in  faith,  of  the  boundlessness  of  Thy 
goodness,  and  the  infinite  multitude  of  Thy  tender  mercies.' 
I  theiA  calmly,  but  sadly,  sat  down,  and  presently,  as  if  my 
prayer  had  been  heard,  relief  was  granted ;  for  Mr.  Cayenne 
raised  his  head,  and,  giving  me  a  queer  look,  saiv>,  -  That  last 
clause  of  your  petition,  doctor,  was  well  put,  and  I  think,  too, 
it  has  been  granted,  for  I  am  easier,' — adding,  '  I  have  no 
doubt,  doctor,  given  much  offence  in  the  world,  and  oftenest 
when  I  meant  to  do  good  ;  but  I  have  wilfully  injured  no  man, 
and  as  God  is  my  judge,  and  His  goodness,  you  say,  is  so 
great.  He  may,  perhaps,  take  my  soul  into  His  holy  keeping.' 
In  saying  which  words,  Mr.  Cayenne  dropped  his  head  upon 
his  breast,  his  breathing  ceased,  and  he  was  wafted  away  out 
of  this  world  with  as  little  troubh  as  a  blameless  baby. 

This  event  soon  led  to  a  change  among  us.  In  the 
settling  of  Mr.  Cayenne's  affairs  in  the  Cotton-mill  Company, 
it  was  found  that  he  had  left  such  a  power  of  money,  that  it 
was  needful  to  the  concsrn,  in  order  that  they  might  settle 
with  the  doers  under  his  testament,  to  take  in  other  partners. 
By  this  Mr.  Speckle  came  to  be  a  resident  in  the  parish,  he 
having  taken  up  a  portion  of  Mr.  Cayenne's  share.  He 
likewise  took  a  tack  of  the  house  and  policy  of  Wheatrig. 
But  although  Mr.  Speckle  was  a  far  more  conversible  man 
than  his  predecessor,  and  had  a  wonderful  plausibilitv  in 
business,  the  affairs  of  the  Company  did  not  thrive  in  his 
hands.  Some  said  this  was  owing  to  his  having  ower  many 
irons  in  the  fire  ;  others,  to  the  circumstances  of  the  times ; 
in  my  judgment,  howevar,  both  helped ;  but  the  issue  belongs 
to  the  events  of  another  year.  In  the  meanwhile,  I  should 
here  note,  that  in  the  course  of  this  current  Ann.  Dom.  it 
pleased  Heaven  to  visit  me  with  a  severe  trial,  the  nature  of 
which  I  will  here  record  at  length — the  upshot  I  will  make 
known  hereafter. 

From  the  planting  of  inhabitants  in  the  cotton-mill  town 
of  Cayenneville,  or,  as  the  country  folk,  not  used  to  such  lang- 
nebbit  words,  now  call  it.  Canaille,  there  had  come  in  upon 

176 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

the  parish  various  sectarians  among  the  weavers,  some  of 
whom  were  not  satisfied  with  the  Gospel  as  I  preached  it, 
and  endeavoured  to  practise  it  in  my  walk  and  conversation  ; 
and  they  began  to  speak  of  building  a  kirk  for  themselves, 
and  of  getting  a  minister  that  would  give  them  the  Gospel 
more  to  their  own  ignorant  fancies.  I  was  exceedingly  wroth 
and  disturbed  when  the  thing  was  first  mentioned  to  me  ; 
and  I  very  earnestly,  from  the  pulpit,  next  Lord's  day,  lectured 
on  the  growth  of  new-fangled  doctrines ;  which,  however, 
instead  of  having  the  wonted  effect  of  my  discourses,  set  up 
the  theological  weavers  in  a  bleeze,  and  the  very  Monday 
following  they  named  a  committee  to  raise  money  by  sub- 
scription to  build  a  meeting-house.  This  was  the  first  overt 
act  of  insubordination  collectively  manifested  in  the  parish  ; 
and  it  was  conducted  with  all  that  crafty  dexterity,  with  v^'hich 
the  infidel  and  Jacobin  spirit  of  the  French  Revolution  had 
corrupted  the  honest  simplicity  of  our  good  old  hameward 
fashions.  In  the  course  of  a  very  short  time,  the  Canaille 
folk  had  raised  a  large  sum,  and  seduced  not  a  few  of  my 
people  into  their  schism,  by  which  they  were  enabled  to  set 
about  building  their  kirk ;  the  foundations  thereof  were  not, 
however,  laid  till  the  following  year,  but  their  proceedings 
gave  me  a  het  heart,  for  they  were  like  an  open  rebellion  to 
my  authority,  and  a  contemptuous  disregard  of  that  religious 
allegiance  which  is  due  from  the  flock  to  the  pastor. 

On  Christmas  day  the  wind  broke  off  the  main  arm  of  our 
Adam  and  Eve  pear-tree,  and  I  grieved  for  it  more  as  a  type 
and  sign  of  the  threatened  partition,  than  on  account  of  the 
damage,  though  the  fruit  was  the  juiciest  in  all  the  country- 
side. 


fill 

m 
'1\ 


ii?j 


¥■  t  -^ 


I 


■  i  « 


4 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

Year  1807 
Numerous  marriages — Account  of  a  pay-wedding,  made  to  set  up  a  shop. 


This  was  a  year  to  me  of  satisfaction,  in  many  points,  for  a 
greater  number  of  my  younger  flock  married  in  it,  than  had 
done  for  any  one  of  ten  years  prior.     They  were  chiefly  the 

N  177 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


offspring  of  the  marriages  that  iook  place  at  the  close  of  the 
American  war ;  and  I  was  pleased  to  see  the  duplification  of 
well-doing,  as  I  think  marrying  is,  having  always  considered 
the  command  to  increase  and  multiply,  a  holy  ordinance, 
which  the  circumstances  of  this  world  but  too  often  interfere 
to  prevent. 

It  was  also  made  manifest  to  me,  that  in  this  year  there 
was  a  very  general  renewal  in  the  hearts  of  men,  of  a  sense 
of  the  utility,  even  in  earthly  affairs,  of  a  religious  life :  in 
some,  I  trust  it  was  more  than  prudence,  and  really  a  birth 
of  grace.  Whether  this  was  owing  to  the  upshot  of  the 
French  Revolution,  all  men  being  pretty  well  satisfied  in  their 
minds  that  uproar  and  rebellion  make  but  an  ill  way  of 
righting  wrongs,  or  that  the  swarm  of  unruly  youth,  the  off- 
spring, as  I  have  said,  of  the  marriages  after  the  American 
war,  had  grown  sobered  from  their  follies,  and  saw  things  in 
a  better  light,  I  cannot  take  upon  me  to  say.  But  it  was 
very  edifying  to  me,  their  minister,  to  see  several  lads,  who 
hai  been  both  wild  and  free  in  their  principles,  marrying  with 
sobriety,  and  taking  their  wives  to  the  kirk,  with  the  comely 
decorum  of  heads  of  families. 

But  I  was  now  growing  old  and  could  go  seldomer  out 
among  my  people  than  in  former  days,  so  that  I  was  less  a 
partaker  of  their  ploys  and  banquets,  either  at  birth,  bridal, 
or  burial.  I  heard,  however,  all  that  went  on  at  them,  and 
I  made  it  a  rule,  after  giving  the  blessing  at  the  end  of  the 
ceremony,  to  admonish  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  to  ca'  canny, 
and  join  trembling  with  their  mirth.  It  behoved  me  on  one 
occasion,  however,  to  break  through  a  rule,  that  age  and 
frailty  had  imposed  upon  me,  and  to  go  to  the  wedding  of 
Tibby  Banes,  the  daughter  of  the  betherel,  because  she  had 
once  been  a  servant  in  the  manse,  besides  the  obligation  upon 
me  from  her  father's  part,  both  in  the  kirk  and  kirkyard. 
Mrs.  Balwhidder  went  with  me,  for  she  liked  to  countenance 
the  pleasantries  of  my  people  ;  and,  over  and  above  all,  it 
was  a  pay -wedding,  in  order  to  set  up  the  bridegroom  in  a 
shop. 

There  was,  to  be  sure,  a  great  multitude,  gentle  and  semple, 
of  all  denominations,  with  two  fiddles  and  a  bass,  and  the 
volunteers'  fife  and  drum,  and  the  jollity  that  went  on  was  a 
perfect  feast  of  itself,  though  the  wedding-supper  was  a  prodigy 

178 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

of  abundance.  The  auld  carles  kecklet  with  fainness,  as  they 
saw  the  young  dancers ;  and  the  carlins  sat  on  forms,  as 
mim  as  May  puddocks,  with  their  shawls  pinned  apart,  to 
show  their  muslin  napkins.  But,  after  supper,  when  they  had 
got  a  glass  of  the  punch,  their  heels  showed  their  mettle, 
and  grannies  danced  with  their  oyes,  holding  out  their  hands 
as  if  they  had  been  spinning  with  two  rocks.  I  told  Colin 
Mavis,  the  poet,  that  an  Infare  was  a  fine  subject  for  his 
muse,  and  soon  after  he  indited  an  excellent  ballad  under 
that  title,  which  he  projects  to  publish  with  other  ditties  by 
subscription ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  a  liberal  and  discerning 
public  will  give  him  all  manner  of  encouragement,  for  that 
is  the  food  of  talent  of  every  kind,  and  without  cheering,  no 
one  can  say  what  an  author's  faculty  naturally  is. 


CHAPTER   XLIX 


Year  1808 


U    -hi 


Failure  of  Mr.  Speckle,  the  proprietor  of  the  cotton-mill — The  melancholy 
end  of  one  of  the  overseers  and  his  wife. 

Through  all  the  wars  that  have  raged  from  the  time  of  the 
king's  accession  to  the  throne,  there  has  been  a  gradually 
coming  neater  and  nearer  to  our  gates,  which  is  a  very  alarm- 
ing thing  to  think  of  In  the  first,  at  the  time  he  came  to 
the  crown,  we  sufifered  nothing.  Not  one  belonging  tc  the 
parish  was  engaged  in  the  battles  thereof,  and  the  news  of 
victories,  before  they  reached  us,  which  was  generally  by 
word  of  mouth,  were  old  tales.  In  the  American  war,  as  I 
have  related  at  length,  we  had  an  immediate  participation, 
but  those  that  sufifered  were  only  a  few  individuals,  and  the 
evil  was  done  at  a  distance,  and  reached  us  not  until  the 
worst  of  its  effects  were  spent.  And  during  the  first  term 
of  the  present  just  and  necessary  contest  for  all  that  is  dear 
to  us  as  a  people,  although,  by  the  offswarming  of  some  of 
our  restless  youth,  we  had  our  part  and  portion  in  common 
with  the  rest  of  the  Christian  world ;  yet  still  there  was  at 
home  a  great  augmentation  of  prosperity,  and  everything  had 

179 


.■k\ 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

thriven  in  a  surprising  manner ;  somewhat,  however,  to  the 
detriment  of  our  country  simplicity.  By  the  building  of  the 
cotton-mill,  and  the  rising  up  of  the  new  town  of  Cayenneville, 
we  had  intromitted  so  much  with  concerns  of  trade,  that  we 
were  become  a  part  of  the  great  web  of  commercial  reciprocities, 
and  fell  in  our  corner  and  extremity  every  touch  or  stir  that 
was  made  on  any  part  of  the  texture.  The  consequence  of 
this  I  have  now  to  relate. 

Various  rumours  had  been  floating  about  the  business  of 
the  cotton  manufacturers  not  being  so  lucrative  as  it  had  been  ; 
and  Bonaparte,  as  it  is  well  known,  was  a  perfect  limb  of  Satan 
against  our  prosperity,  having  -ecourse  to  the  most  wicked 
means  and  purposes  to  bring  ruin  upon  us  as  a  nation.  His 
cantrips,  in  this  year,  began  to  have  a  dreadful  effect. 

For  some  time  it  had  been  observed  in  the  parish,  that  Mr. 
Speckle,  of  the  cotton-mill,  went  very  nften  to  Glasgow,  and 
was  sometimes  off  at  a  few  minutes'  warning  to  London,  and 
the  neighbours  began  to  guess  and  wonder  at  what  could  be 
the  cause  of  all  this  running  here,  and  riding  there,  as  if  the 
littlegude  was  at  his  heels.  Sober  folk  augured  ill  o't ;  and 
it  was  remarked,  likewise,  that  there  was  a  haste  and  confusion 
in  his  mind,  which  betokened  a  foretaste  of  some  change  of 
fortune.     At  last,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  the  babe  was  born. 

On  a  Saturday  night,  Mr.  Speckle  came  out  late  from 
Glasgow ;  on  the  Sabbath  he  was  with  all  his  family  at  the 
kirk,  looking  as  a  man  that  had  changed  his  way  of  life  ;  and 
on  the  Monday,  when  the  spinners  went  to  the  mill,  they  were 
told  that  the  company  had  stopped  payment.  Never  did  a 
thunder-clap  daunt  the  heart  like  this  news,  for  the  bread  in  a 
moment  was  snatched  from  more  than  a  thousand  mouths. 
It  was  a  scene  not  to  be  described,  to  see  the  cotton-spinners 
and  the  weavers,  with  their  wives  and  children,  standing  in 
bands  along  the  road,  all  looking  and  speaking  as  if  they  had 
lost  a  Qoar  friend  or  parent.  For  my  part,  I  could  not  bear 
the  sight,  but  hid  myself  in  my  closet,  and  prayed  to  the  Lord 
to  mitigate  a  calamity,  which  seemed  to  me  past  the  capacity 
of  man  to  remedy ;  for  what  could  our  parish  fund  do  in  the 
way  of  helping  a  whole  town,  thus  suddenly  thrown  out  of 
bread. 

In  the  evening,  however,  I  was  strengthened,  and  convened 
the  elders  at  the  manse  to  consult  with  them  on  what  was  best 

i8o 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

to  be  done,  for  it  was  well  known  that  the  sufferers  had  made 
no  provision  for  a  sore  foot.  But  all  our  gathered  judgments 
could  determine  nothing ;  and  therefore  we  resolved  to  wait 
the  issue,  not  doubting  but  that  He  who  sends  the  night,  would 
bring  the  day  in  His  good  and  gracious  time,  which  so  fell 
out.  Some  of  them  who  had  the  largest  experience  of  such 
vicissitudes,  immediately  began  to  pack  up  their  ends  and  their 
awls,  and  to  hie  them  into  Glasgow  and  Paisley  in  quest  of 
employ ;  but  chose  who  trusted  to  the  hopes  that  Mr.  Speckle 
himself  still  cherished,  lingered  long,  and  were  obligated  to 
submit  to  sore  distress.  After  a  time,  however,  it  was  found 
that  the  company  was  ruined,  and  the  mill  being  sold  for  the 
benefit  of  the  creditors,  it  was  bought  by  another  Glasgow 
company,  who,  by  getting  it  a  good  bargain,  and  managing 
well,  have  it  still,  and  have  made  it  again  a  blessing  to  the 
«;ountry.  At  the  time  of  the  stoppage,  however,  we  saw  that 
commercial  prosperity,  flush  as  it  might  be,  was  but  a  perish- 
able commodity,  and  from  thence,  both  by  public  discourse 
and  private  exhortation,  I  have  recommended  to  the  workmen 
to  lay  up  something  for  a  reverse  ;  and  showed  that,  by  doing 
with  their  bawbees  and  pennies,  what  the  great  do  with  their 
pounds,  they  might  in  time  get  a  pose  to  help  them  in  the  day 
of  need.  This  advice  they  have  followed,  and  made  up  a 
Savings  Bank,  which  is  a  pillow  of  comfort  to  many  an 
industrious  head  of  a  family. 

But  I  should  not  close  this  account  of  the  disaster  that 
befell  Mr.  Speckle,  and  the  cotton -mill  company,  without 
relating  a  very  melancholy  case  that  was  the  consequence. 
Among  the  overseers  there  was  a  Mr.  Dwining,  an  English- 
man from  Manchester,  where  he  had  seen  better  days,  having 
had  himself  there  of  his  own  property,  once  as  large  a  mill, 
according  to  report,  as  the  Cayenneville  mill.  He  was 
certainly  a  man  above  the  common,  and  his  wife  was  a  lady 
in  every  point ;  but  they  held  themselves  by  themselves,  and 
shunned  all  manner  of  civility,  giving  up  their  whole  attention 
to  their  two  little  boys,  who  were  really  like  creatures  of  a 
better  race  than  the  callans  of  our  clachan. 

On  the  failure  of  the  company,  Mr.  Dwining  was  observed 
by  those  who  were  present  to  be  particularly  distressed :  his 
salary  being  his  all ;  but  he  said  little,  and  went  thoughtfully 
home.     Some  days  after  he  was  seen  walking  by  himself  with 

i8i 


'i 


\. 


1>  !l 

■  \ 

i 


k'\ 


\      ! 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

a  pale  face,  a  heavy  eye,  and  slow  step — all  tokens  of  a  sorrow- 
ful heart.  Soon  after  he  was  missed  altogether ;  nobody  saw 
him.  The  door  of  his  house  was  however  open,  and  his  two 
pretty  boys  were  as  lively  as  usual,  on  the  green  before  the 
door.  I  happened  to  pass  when  they  were  there,  and  I  asked 
them  how  their  father  and  mother  were.  They  said  they  were 
still  in  bed,  and  would  no  waken,  and  the  innocent  lambs  took 
me  by  the  hand,  to  make  me  waken  their  parents.  I  know 
not  what  was  in  it,  but  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  I 
was  led  in  by  the  babies,  as  if  I  had  not  the  power  to  resist. 
Never  shall  I  forget  what  I  saw  in  that  bed    . 

t  •  «  •  f 

I  found  a  letter  on  the  table ;  and  I  came  away,  locking  the 
door  behind  me,  and  took  the  lovely  prattling  orphans  home. 
I  could  but  shake  my  head  and  weep,  as  I  gave  them  to  the 
care  of  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  and  she  was  terrified  but  said  nothing. 
I  then  read  the  letter.  It  was  to  '•end  the  bairns  to  a  gentle- 
man, their  uncle,  in  London.  Oh  it  is  a  terrible  tale,  but  the 
winding-sheet  and  the  earth  is  over  it.  I  sent  for  two  of  my 
elders.  I  related  what  I  had  seen.  Two  coffins  were  got, 
and  the  bodies  laid  in  them ;  and  the  next  day,  with  one  of 
the  fatherless  bairns  in  each  hand,  I  followed  them  to  the 
grave,  which  was  dug  in  that  part  of  the  kirkyard  where 
unchristened  babies  are  laid.  We  durst  not  take  it  upon  us 
to  do  more,  but  few  knew  the  reason,  and  some  thought  it  was 
because  the  deceased  were  strangers,  and  had  no  regular  lair. 

I  dressed  the  two  bonny  orphans  in  the  best  mourning  at 
my  own  cost,  and  kept  them  in  the  manse  till  we  could  get  an 
answer  from  their  uncle,  to  whom  I  sent  their  father's  letter. 
It  stung  him  to  the  quick,  and  he  came  down  all  the  way  from 
London,  and  took  the  children  away  himself.  Oh  he  was  a 
vext  man  when  the  beautiful  bairns,  on  being  told  he  was  their 
uncle,  ran  into  his  arms,  and  complained  that  their  papa  and 
mamma  had  slept  so  long,  that  they  would  never  waken. 


182 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 


CHAPTER  L 
Year  1809 


1i 


Opening  of  a  meeting-house — The  elders  come  to  the  manse, 
and  offer  me  a  helper. 

As  I  come  towards  the  events  of  these  latter  days,  I  am 
surprised  to  find  myself  not  at  all  so  distinct  in  my  recollection 
of  them,  as  in  those  of  the  first  of  my  ministry  :  being  apt  to 
confound  the  things  of  one  occasion  with  those  of  another, 
which  Mrs.  Balwhidder  says  is  an  admonishment  to  me  to 
leave  off  my  writing.  But,  please  God,  I  will  endeavour  to 
fulfil  this  as  I  have  through  life  tried,  to  the  best  of  my 
capacity,  to  do  every  other  duty ;  and  with  the  help  of  Mrs. 
Balwhidder,  who  has  a  very  clear  understanding,  I  think  I 
may  get  through  my  task  in  a  creditable  manner,  which  is  all 
I  aspire  after ;  not  writing  for  a  vain  world,  but  only  to  testify 
to  posterity  anent  the  great  changes  that  have  happened  in 
my  day  and  generation — a  period  which  all  the  best-informed 
writers  say,  has  not  had  its  match  in  the  history  of  the  world 
since  the  beginning  of  time. 

By  the  failure  of  the  cotton -mill  company,  whose  affairs 
were  not  settled  till  the  spring  of  this  year,  there  was  great 
suffering  during  the  winter ;  but  my  people,  those  that  still 
adhered  to  the  establishment,  bore  their  share  of  the  dispensa- 
tion with  meekness  and  patience,  nor  was  there  wanting 
edifymg  monuments  of  resignation  even  among  the  stray- 
vaggers. 

On  the  day  that  the  Canaille  Meeting- house  was  opened, 
which  was  in  the  summer,  I  was  smitten  to  the  heart  to  see 
the  empty  seats  that  were  in  my  kirk,  for  all  the  thoughtless, 
and  some  that  I  had  a  better  opinion  of,  went  to  hear  the 
opening  discourse.  Satan  that  day  had  power  given  to  him  to 
buffet  me  as  he  did  Job  of  old ;  and  when  I  looked  around 
and  saw  the  empty  seats,  my  corruption  rose,  and  I  forgot 
myself  in  the  remembering  prayer ;  for  when  I  prayed  for  all 
denominations  of  Christians,  and  worshippers,  and  infidels,  I 
could  not  speak  of  the  schismatics  with  patience,  but  entreated 

183 


u 


n.i 


\v 


!fi 


';i 


I'* 


ifi 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

the  Lord  to  do  with  the  hobbleshow  at  Cayenncville  as  He 
saw  meet  in  His  displeasure,  the  which,  when  I  came  after- 
wards to  think  upon,  1  grieved  at  with  a  sore  contrition. 

In  the  course  of  the  week  following,  the  elders,  in  a  body, 
came  to  me  in  the  manse,  and  after  much  commendation  of 
my  godly  ministry,  they  said,  that  seeing  I  was  now  growing 
old,  they  thought  they  could  not  testify  their  respect  for  me  in 
a  better  manner,  than  by  agreeing  to  get  me  a  helper.  But  I 
would  not  at  that  time  listen  to  such  a  proposal,  for  I  felt  no 
falling  ofif  in  my  powers  of  preaching  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  found 
myself  growing  better  at  it,  as  I  was  enabled  to  hold  forth,  in 
an  easy  manner,  often  a  whole  half-hour  longer  than  I  could 
do  a  dozen  years  before.  Therefore  nothing  was  done  in  this 
year  anent  my  resignation ;  but  during  the  winter,  Mrs. 
Balwhidder  was  often  grieved,  in  the  bad  weather,  that  I 
should  preach,  and,  in  short,  so  worked  upon  my  afTections, 
that  I  began  to  think  it  was  fitting  for  me  to  comply  with  the 
advice  of  my  friends.  Accordingly,  in  the  course  of  the  winter, 
the  elders  began  to  cast  about  for  a  helper,  and  during  the 
bleak  weather  in  the  ensuing  spring,  several  young  men  spared 
me  from  the  necessity  of  preaching.  But  this  relates  to  the 
concerns  of  the  next  and  last  year  of  my  ministry.  So  I  will 
now  proceed  to  give  an  account  of  it,  very  thankful  that  I  have 
been  permitted,  in  unmolested  tranquillity,  to  bring  my  history 
to  such  a  point 


CHAPTER  LI 

Year  i8io 

Conclusion — I  repair  to  the  church  for  the  last  time — Afterwards  receive 
a  silver  server  from  the  parishioners — And  still  continue  to  marry  and 
baptize. . 

My  tasks  are  all  near  a  close ;  and  in  writing  this  final  record 
of  my  ministry,  th^  very  sound  of  my  pen  admonishes  me  that 
my  life  is  a  burden  on  the  back  of  flying  Time,  that  he  will 
soon  be  obliged  to  lay  down  in  his  great  storehouse,  the  grave. 
Old  age  has,  indeed,  long  warned  me  to  prepare  for  rest,  and 

184 


I 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

the  darkened  windows  of  my  sight   show  that   the   night   is 
coming  on,  while  deafness,  like  a  door  fast  barred,  has  shut 


^^S^^^ 

't?* 


•  The  elders,  in  a  body,  came  to  me  in  in:  *':anse.' 
Copyriekt  1895  by  Macmillan  &•  Co. 

out  all  the  pleasant  sounds  of  this  world,  and  inclosed  me,  as 
it  were,  in  a  prison,  even  from  the  voices  of  my  friends. 

185 


.1 


.  I 


if.; 

.  i  ■ 
,:  !  i 


ANNALS  C^  THE  PARISH 

I  have  lived  longer  than  the  common  lot  of  man,  and  I 
have  seen,  in  my  time,  many  mutations  and  turnings,  and  ups 
and  downs,  notwithstanding  the  great  spread  that  has  been 
in  our  national  prosperity.  I  have  beheld  them  that  were 
flourishing  like  the  green  bay  trees,  made  desolate,  and  their 
branches  scattered.  But,  in  my  own  estate,  I  have  had  a 
large  and  liberal  experience  of  goodness. 

At  the  beginning  of  my  ministry  I  v.z"  r#"iied  and  rejected, 
but  my  honest  endeavours  to  prove  a  faithful  shepherd  were 
blessed  from  on  high,  and  rewarded  with  the  affection  of  my 
flock.  Perhaps,  in  the  vanity  of  doting  old  age,  I  thought  in 
this  there  was  a  merit  due  to  myself,  which  made  the  Lord  to 
send  the  chastisement  of  the  Canaille  schism  among  my 
people,  for  I  was  then  wroth  without  judgment,  and  by  my 
heat  hastened  into  an  open  division  the  flaw  that  a  more  con- 
siderate manner  might  have  healed.  But  I  confess  my  fault, 
and  submit  my  cheek  to  the  smiter ;  and  now  I  see  that  the 
finger  of  Wisdom  was  in  that  probation,  and  it  was  far  better 
that  the  weavers  meddled  with  the  things  of  God,  which  they 
could  noi  change,  than  with  those  of  the  king,  which  they 
could  only  harm.  In  that  matter,  however,  I  was  like  our 
gracious  monarch  in  the  American  war ;  for  though  I  thereby 
lost  the  pastoral  allegiance  of  a  portion  of  my  people,  in  like 
manner  as  he  did  of  his  American  subjects ;  yet,  after  the 
separation,  I  was  enabled  so  to  deport  myself,  that  they  showed 
me  many  voluntary  testimonies  of  affectionate  respect,  and 
which  it  would  be  a  vainglory  in  me  to  rehearse  here.  One 
thing  I  must  record,  because  it  is  as  much  to  their  honour  as 
it  is  to  mine. 

When  it  was  known  that  I  was  to  preach  my  last  sermon, 
every  one  of  those  who  had  been  my  hearers,  and  who  had 
seceded  to  the  Canaille  meeting,  made  it  a  point  that  day  to 
be  in  the  parish  kirk,  pnd  to  stand  in  the  crowd,  that  made  a 
lane  of  reverence  for  me  to  pass  from  the  kirk  door  to  the 
back-yett  of  the  manse.  And  shortly  after  a  deputation  of  all 
their  brethren,  with  their  minister  at  their  head,  came  to  me 
one  morning,  and  presented  to  me  a  server  of  silver,  in  token, 
as  they  were  pleased  to  say,  of  their  esteem  for  my  blameless 
life,  and  the  charity  that  I  had  practised  towards  the  poor  of 
all  sects  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  which  is  set  forth  in  a  well- 
penned  inscription,  written  by  a  weaver  lad  that  works  for  his 

i86 


ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH 

daily  bread.  Such  a  thing  would  have  been  a  prodigy  at  the 
beginning  of  my  ministry,  but  the  progress  of  book-learning 
and  education  has  been  wonderful  since,  and  with  it  has  come 
a  spirit  of  greater  liberality  than  the  world  knew  before, 
bringing  men  of  adverse  principles  and  doctrines  into  a  more 
humane  communion  with  each  other,  showing,  that  it's  by  the 
mollifying  influence  of  knowledge,  the  time  will  come  to  pass, 
when  the  tiger  of  papistry  shall  lie  down  with  the  lamb  of 
reformation,  and  the  vultures  of  prelacy  be  as  harmless  as  the 
presbyteriaii  doves ;  when  the  independent,  the  anabaptist, 
and  every  other  order  and  denomination  of  Christians,  not 
forgetting  even  those  poor  wee  wrens  of  the  Lord,  the  burghers 
and  anti-burghers,  who  will  pick  from  the  hand  of  patronage, 
and  dread  no  snare. 

On  the  next  Sunday,  after  my  farewell  discourse,  I  took 
the  arm  of  Mrs.  Balwhidder,  and  with  my  cane  in  my  hand, 
walked  to  our  own  pew,  where  I  sat  some  time,  but  owing  to 
my  deafness,  not  being  able  to  hear,  I  have  not  since  gone 
back  to  the  church.  But  my  people  are  fond  of  having  their 
weans  still  christened  by  me,  and  the  young  folk,  such  as  are 
of  a  serious  turn,  come  to  be  married  at  my  hands,  believing, 
as  they  say,  that  there  is  something  good  in  the  blessing  of  an 
aged  Gospel  minister.  But  even  this  remnant  of  my  gown  J 
must  lay  aside,  for  Mrs.  Balwhidder  is  now  and  then  obliged 
to  stop  me  in  my  prayers,  as  I  sometimes  wander — pronouncing 
the  baptismal  blessing  upon  a  bride  and  bridegroom,  talking 
as  if  they  were  already  parents.  I  am  thankful,  however,  that 
I  have  been  spared  with  a  sound  mind  to  write  this  book  to 
the  end ;  but  it  is  my  last  task,  and,  indeed,  really  I  have  no 
more  to  say,  saving  only  to  wish  a  blessing  on  all  people  from 
on  High,  where  I  soon  hope  to  be,  and  to  meet  there  all  the 
old  and  long-departed  sheep  of  my  flock,  especially  th,  first 
and  second  Mrs.  Balwhidders. 


',* 


■>■: 


J, 


ill:: 


:i!: 


■*ii 


187 


I 


BY    THE    AUTHOR    OF 

ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH,  THE  ENTAIL,  ETC. 


Y 

; 

!      I 


>l'l 


THE    AYRSHIRE    LEGATEES 


OR 


THE  PRINGLE  FAMILY 


,< 


!fl 


'^ 


■;iyi 


INSCRIBED   TO 

KIRKMAN  FINLAY,  Esquire, 

WITH    THE    BEST    RESPECTS   OF 
THE   AUTHOR 


( :  ^  J!f  a 

h-H 

^'i 

jdPl 

'   ii 


ih 


t 


ku 


CHAPTER  I 


THE   DEPARTURE 


ri 


On  New  Year's  day  Dr.  Pringle  received  a  letter  from 
India,  informing  him  that  his  cousin,  Colonel  Armour,  had 
died  at  Hydrabad,  and  left  him  his  residuary  legatee.  The 
same  post  brought  other  letters  on  the  same  subject  from  the 
agent  of  the  deceased  in  London,  by  which  it  was  evident  to 
the  whole  family  that  no  time  should  be  lost  in  looking  after 
their  interests  in  the  hands  of  such  brief  and  abrupt  corre- 
spondents. '  To  say  the  least  of  it,'  as  the  Doctor  himself 
sedately  remarked,  '  considering  the  greatness  of  the  forth- 
coming property,  Messieurs  Richard  Argent  and  Company,  of 
New  Broad  Street,  might  have  given  a  notion  as  to  the 
particulars  of  the  residue.'  It  was  therefore  determined  that, 
as  soon  as  the  requisite  arrangements  could  be  made,  the 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Pringle  should  set  out  for  the  metropolis,  to 
obtain  a  speedy  settlement  with  the  agents,  and,  as  Rachel 
had  now,  to  use  an  expression  of  her  mother's,  *a  prospect 
before  her,'  that  she  also  should  accompany  them :  Andrew, 
who  had  just  been  called  to  the  Bar,  and  who  had  come  to  the 
manse  to  spend  a  few  days  after  attaining  that  distinction, 
modestly  suggestc'd,  that,  considering  the  various  professional 
points  which  might  be  involved  in  the  objects  of  his  father's 
journey,  and  considering  also  the  retired  life  which  his  father 
had  led  in  the  rural  village  of  Gamock,  it  might  be  of 
importance  to  have  the  advantage  of  legal  advice. 

Mrs.  Pringle  interrupted  this  harangue,  by  saying,  *  We  see 
what  you  would  be  at,  Andrew ;  ye're  just  wanting  to  come 
with  us,  and  on  this  occasion  I'm  no  for  making  step-bairns, 
so  we'll  a'  gang  thegither.' 

O  193 


i,' 


ii 


^m 


ffJH 


Ui' 


THE  ARYSHIRE  LEGATEES 


\lr: 


The  Doctor  had  been  for  many  years  the  incumbent  of 
Garnock,  which  is  pleasantly  situated  between  Irvine  and 
Kilwinning,  and,  on  account  of  the  benevolence  of  his  dis- 
position, was  much  beloved  by  his  parishioners.  Some  of  the 
pawkie  among  them  used  indeed  to  say,  in  answer  to  the 
godly  of  Kilmarnock,  and  other  admirers  of  the  late  great 
John  Russel,  of  that  formerly  orthodox  town,  by  whom  Dr. 
Pringle's  powers  as  a  preacher  were  held  in  no  particular 
estimation, — '  He  kens  our  pu'pit's  frail,  and  spar'st  to  save 
outlay  to  the  heritors.'  As  for  Mrs.  Pringle,  there  is  not  such 
another  minister's  wife,  both  for  economy  and  management, 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Synod  of  Glasgow  and  Ayr,  and 
to  this  fact  the  following  letter  to  Miss  Mally  Glencaim,  a 
maiden  lady  residing  in  the  Kirkgate  of  Irvine,  a  street  that 
has  been  likened  unto  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  where  there  is 
neither  marriaf,e  nor  giving  in  marriage,  will  abundantly  testify. 


LETTER    I 

Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Mally  Glencaim 

Garnock  Manse. 

Dear  Miss  Mally — The  Doctor  has  had  extraordinar  news 
from  India  and  London,  where  we  are  all  going,  as  soon  as 
me  and  Rachel  can  get  ourselves  in  order,  so  I  beg  you  will 
go  to  Bailie  Delap's  shop,  and  get  swatches  of  his  best  black 
bombaseen,  and  crape,  and  muslin,  and  bring  them  over  to 
the  manse  the  mom's  morning.  If  you  cannot  come  yourself, 
and  the  day  should  be  wat,  send  Nanny  Eydent,  the  mantua- 
maker,  with  them  ;  you'll  be  sure  to  send  Nanny,  onyhow,  and 
I  requeesht  that,  on  this  okasion,  ye'U  get  the  very  best  the 
Bailie  has,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  when  you  come.  You 
will  get,  likewise,  swatches  of  mourning  print,  with  the  lowest 
prices.  I'll  no  be  so  particular  about  them,  as  they  are  for 
the  servan  lasses,  and  there's  no  need,  for  all  the  greatness  of 
God's  gifts,  that  we  should  be  wasterful.  Let  Mrs.  Glibbans 
know,  that  the  Doctor's  second  cousin,  the  colonel,  that 
was  in  the  East  Indies,  is  no  more; — I  am  sure  she  will 
sympatheese  with  our  loss  on  this  melancholy  okasion.  Tell 
her,  as  I'll  no  be  out  till  our  mournings  are  made,  I  would 
take  it  kind  if  she  would  come  over  and  eate  a  bit  of  dinner 

194 


THE  DEPARTURE 

on  Sunday.  The  Doctor  will  no  preach  himself,  but  there's  to 
be  an  excellent  young  man,  an  acquaintanct  of  Andrew's,  that 
has  the  repute  of  being  both  sound  and  hellaquaint.  But  no 
more  at  present,  and  looking  for  you  and  Nanny  Eydent,  with 
the  swatches, — I  am,  dear  Miss  Mally,  your  sinsare  friend, 

Janp:t  Pkingle. 

The  Doctor  being  of  opinion  that,  until  they  had  something 
in  hand  from  the  legacy,  they  should  walk  in  the  paths  of 
moderation,  it  was  resolved  to  proceed  by  the  coach  from 
Irvine  to  Greenock,  there  embark  in  a  steam-boat  for  Glasgow, 
and,  crossing  the  country  to  Edinburgh,  take  their  passage  at 
Leith  in  one  of  the  smacks  for  London.  But  we  must  let  the 
parties  speak  for  themselves. 


''U\\ 


b*       'I 


tiC    ;. 


LETTER    II 
Miss  Rachel  Pringle  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod 

Greenock. 

My  dear  Isabella — I  know  not  why  the  dejection  with 
which  I  parted  from  you  still  hangs  upon  my  heart,  and  grows 
heavier  as  I  am  drawn  farther  and  farther  away.  The 
uncertainty  of  the  future — the  dangers  of  the  sea — all  combine 
to  sadden  my  too  sensitive  spirit.  Still,  however,  I  will  exert 
myself,  and  try  to  give  you  some  account  of  our  momentous 
journey. 

The  morning  on  which  we  bade  farewell  for  a  time — alas ! 
it  was  to  me  as  if  for  ever,  to  my  native  shades  of  Gamock — 
the  weather  was  cold,  bleak,  and  boisterous,  and  the  waves 
came  rolling  in  majestic  fury  towards  the  shore,  when  we 
arrived  at  the  Tontine  Inn  of  Ardrossan.  What  a  monument 
has  the  late  Earl  of  Eglinton  left  there  of  his  public  spirit ! 
It  should  embalm  his  memory  in  the  hearts  of  future  ages,  as 
I  doubt  not  but  in  time  Ardrossan  will  become  a  grand 
empormm  ;  but  the  people  of  Saltcoats,  a  sordid  race,  complain 
that  it  will  be  their  ruin  ;  and  the  Paisley  subscribers  to  his 
lordship's  canal  grow  pale  when  they  think  of  profit. 

The  road,  after  leaving  Ardrossan,  lies  along  the  shore. 
The  blast  came  dark  from  the  waters,  and  the  clouds  lay  piled 
in  every  form  of  grandeur  on  the  lofty  peaks  of  Arran.     The 

19s 


•'If 


THE  ARYSHIRE  LEGATEES 


view  on  the  right  hand  is  limited  to  the  foot  of  a  range  of 
abrupt  mean  hills,  and  on  the  left  it  meets  the  sea — as  we 
were  obliged  to  keep  the  glasses  up,  our  drive  for  several 
miles  was  objectless  and  dreary.  When  we  had  ascended  a 
hill,  leaving  Kilbride  on  the  left,  we  passed  under  the  walls  of 
an  ancient  tower.  What  delightful  ideas  are  associated  with 
the  sight  of  such  venerable  remains  of  antiquity  ! 

Leaving  that  lofty  relic  of  our  warlike  ancestors,  we 
descended  again  towards  the  shore.  On  the  one  side  lay  the 
Cumbra  Islands,  and  Bute,  dear  to  departed  royalty.  Afar 
beyond  them,  in  the  hoary  magnificence  of  nature,  rise  the 
mountains  of  Argyllshire  ;  the  cairns,  a.?  my  brother  says,  of  a 
former  world.  On  the  other  side  of  the  road,  we  saw  the 
cloistered  ruins  of  the  religious  house  of  Southenan,  a  nunnery 
in  those  days  of  romantic  adventure,  when  to  live  was  to  enjoy 
a  poetical  element.  In  such  a  sweet  sequestered  retreat,  how 
much  more  pleasing  to  the  soul  it  would  have  been,  for  you 
and  I,  like  two  captive  birds  in  one  cage,  to  have  sung  away 
our  hours  in  innocence,  than  for  me  to  ho  thus  torn  from  you 
by  fate,  and  all  on  account  of  that  mercenary  legacy,  perchance 
the  spoils  of  some  unfortunate  Hindoo  Rajah  ! 

At  Largs  we  halted  to  change  horses,  and  saw  the  barrows 
of  those  who  fell  in  the  great  battle.  We  then  continued  our 
journey  along  the  foot  of  stupendous  precipices  ;  and  high, 
sublime,  and  darkened  with  the  shadow  of  antiquity,  we  saw, 
upon  its  lofty  station,  the  ancient  Castle  of  Skelmorlie,  where 
the  Montgomeries  of  other  days  held  their  gorgeous  banquets, 
and  that  brave  knight  who  fell  at  Chevy-Chace  came  pricking 
forth  on  his  milk-white  steed,  as  Sir  Walter  Scott  would  have 
described  him.  But  the  age  of  chivalry  is  past,  and  the  glory 
of  Europe  departed  for  ever  ! 

When  we  crossed  the  stream  that  divides  the  counties  of 
Ayr  and  Renfrew,  we  beheld,  in  all  the  apart  and  conse- 
quentiality  of  pride,  the  house  of  Kelly  overlooking  the  social 
villas  of  Wemyss  Bay.  My  brother  compared  it  to  a  sugar 
hogshead,  and  them  to  cotton-bags ;  for  the  lofty  thane  of 
Kelly  is  but  a  West  India  planter,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the 
villas  on  the  shore  are  Glasgow  manufacturers. 

To  this  succeeded  a  dull  drive  of  about  two  miles,  and  then 
at  once  we  entered  the  pretty  village  of  Inverkip.  A  slight 
snow-shower  had  given  to  the  landscape  a  sort  of  copperplate 

196 


THE  DEPARTURE 


effect,  but  still  the  forms  of  things,  though  but  sketched,  as  it 
were,  with  China  ink,  were  calculated  to  produce  interesting 
impressions.  After  ascending,  by  a  gentle  acclivity,  into  a 
picturesque  and  romantic  pass,  we  entered  a  spacious  valley, 
and,  in  the  course  of  little  more  than  half  an  hour,  reached 
this  town ;  the  largest,  the  most  populous,  and  the  most 
superb  that  I  have  yet  seen.  But  what  are  all  its  warehouses, 
ships,  and  smell  of  tar,  and  other  odoriferous  circumstances  of 
fishery  and  the  sea,  compared  with  the  green  swelling  hills, 
the  fragrant  bean-fields,  and  the  peaceful  groves  of  my  native 
Gamock ! 

The  people  of  this  town  are  a  very  busy  and  clever  race, 
but  much  given  to  litigation.  My  brother  says,  that  they  are 
the  greatest  benefactors  to  the  Outer  House,  and  that  their  law- 
suits are  the  most  amusing  and  profitable  before  the  courts, 
being  less  for  the  purpose  of  determining  what  is  right  than 
what  is  lawful.  The  chambermaid  of  the  inn  where  we  lodge 
pointed  out  to  me,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  a 
magnificent  edifice  erected  for  balls  ;  but  the  subscribers  have 
resolved  not  to  allow  any  dancing  till  it  is  determined  by  the 
Court  of  Session  to  whom  the  seats  and  chairs  belong,  as  they 
were  brought  from  another  house  where  the  assemblies  were 
formerly  held.  I  have  heard  a  lawsuit  compared  to  a  country- 
dance,  in  which,  after  a  great  bustle  and  regular  confusion,  the 
parties  stand  still,  all  tired,  just  on  the  spot  where  hey  began  ; 
but  this  is  the  first  time  that  the  judges  of  the  land  have  been 
called  on  to  decide  when  a  dance  may  begin. 

We  arrived  too  late  for  the  steam-boat,  and  are  obliged  to 
wait  till  Monday  rnoming ;  but  to-morrow  we  shall  go  to 
church,  where  I  expect  to  see  what  sort  of  creatures  the  beaux 
are.  The  Greenock  ladies  have  a  great  name  for  beauty,  but 
those  that  I  have  seen  are  perfect  frights.  Such  of  the 
gentlemen  as  I  have  observed  passing  the  windows  of  the  inn 
may  do,  but  I  declare  the  ladies  have  nothing  of  which  any 
woman  ought  to  be  proud.  Had  we  known  that  we  ran  a  risk 
of  not  getting  a  steam-boat,  my  mother  would  have  provided 
an  introductory  letter  or  two  from  some  of  her  Irvine  friends  ; 
but  here  we  are  almost  entire  strangers :  my  father,  however, 
is  acquainted  with  one  of  the  magistrates,  and  has  gone  to  see 
him.  I  hope  he  will  be  civil  enough  to  ask  us  to  his  house, 
for  an  inn  is  a  shocking  place  to  live  in,  and  my  mother  is 

197 


{ 


I;! 

id 


THE  AYRSHIRK  LEGATEES 


If    ! 


terrified  at  the  expense.  My  brother,  however,  has  great 
confidence  in  our  prospects,  and  orders  and  directs  with  a  high 
hand.  But  my  paper  is  full,  and  I  am  compelled  to  conclude 
with  scarcely  room  to  say  how  afifectionately  I  am  yours, 

Rachel  Pringle. 


h     t 


LETTER  III 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Pringle  to  Mr.  Micklewham^  Schoolmaster 
and  Session-Clerk^  Gamock 

Edinburgh. 

Dear  Sir — We  have  got  this  length  through  many  difficul- 
ties, both  in  the  travel  by  land  to,  and  by  sea  and  land  from 
Greenock,  where  we  were  obligated,  by  reason  of  no  convey- 
ance, to  stop  the  Sabbath,  but  not  without  edification  ;  for  we 
went  to  hear  Dr.  Drystour  in  the  forenoon,  who  had  a  most 
weighty  sermon  on  the  tenth  chapter  of  Nehemiah.  He  is 
surely  a  great  orthodox  divine,  but  rather  costive  in  his 
delivery.  In  the  afternoon  we  heard  a  correct  moral  lecture 
on  good  works,  in  another  church,  from  Dr.  Eastlight — a  plain 
man,  with  a  genteel  congregation.  The  same  night  we  took 
supper  with  a  wealthy  family,  where  we  had  much  pleasant 
communion  together,  although  the  bringing  in  of  the  toddy- 
bowl  after  supper  is  a  fashion  that  has  a  tendency  to  lengthen 
the  sederunt  to  unseasonable  hours. 

On  the  following  morning,  by  the  break  of  day,  we  took 
shipping  in  the  steam-boat  for  Glasgow.  I  had  misgivings 
about  the  engine,  which  is  really  a  thing  of  great  docility ;  but 
saving  my  concern  for  the  boiler,  we  all  found  the  place 
surprising  comfortable.  The  day  was  bleak  and  cold ;  but  we 
had  a  good  fire  in  a  carron  grate  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  books  to  lead,  so  that  both  body  and  mind  are  therein 
provided  for. 

Among  the  books,  I  fell  in  with  a  History  of  the  Rebellion^ 
anent  the  hand  that  an  English  gentleman  of  the  name  of 
Waverley  had  in  it.  I  was  grieved  that  I  had  not  time  to  read 
it  through,  for  it  was  wonderful  interesting,  and  far  more 
particular,  in  many  points,  than  any  other  account  of  that 
affair  I  have  yet  met  with  ;  but  it's  no  so  friendly  to  Protestant 
principles  as  I   could  have  wished.     However,  if   I  get  my 

198 


Tin:  DEPARTURE 


legacy  well  settled,  I  will  buy  the  bool:,  and  lend  it  to  you  on 
my  return,  please  God,  to  the  manse. 

We  were  put  on  shore  at  (Glasgow  by  breakfast -time,  and 
there  we  tarried  all  day,  as  I  had  a  power  of  attorney  to  ge' 
from  Miss  Jenny  Macbride,  my  cousin,  to  whom  the  colonel 
left  the  thousand  pound  legacy.  Miss  Jenny  thought  the 
legacy  should  have  been  more,  and  made  some  obstacle  to 
signing  the  power  ;  but  ^jth  her  lawyer  and  Andrew  Pringle, 
my  son,  convinced  her,  that,  as  it  was  specified  in  the 
testament,  she  could  not  help  it  by  standing  out ;  so  at  long 
and  last  Miss  Jenny  was  persuaded  to  put  her  name  to  the 
paper. 

Next  day  we  all  four  got  into  a  fly  coach,  and,  without 
damage  or  detriment,  reached  this  city  in  good  time  for 
dinner  in  Ma^^gregor's  hotel,  a  remarkable  decent  inn,  next 
door  to  one  Mr.  Blackwood,  a  civil  and  discreet  man  in  the 
bookselling  line. 

Really  the  changes  in  Edinburgh  since  I  was  here,  thirty  years 
ago,  are  not  to  be  told.  I  am  confounded  ;  for  although  I 
have  both  heard  and  read  of  the  New  Town  in  the  Edinburgh 
Advertiser^  and  the  Scots  Magazifie^  I  had  no  notion  of  what 
has  come  to  pass.  It's  surprising  to  think  wherein  the  decay 
of  the  nation  is  ;  for  at  Greenock  I  saw  nothing  but  shipping 
and  building ;  at  Glasgow,  streets  spreading  as  if  they  were 
one  of  the  branches  of  cotton-spinning  ;  and  here,  the  houses 
grown  up  as  if  they  were  sown  in  the  seed-time  with  the  corn, 
by  a  drill-machine,  or  dibbled  in  rigs  and  furrows  like  beans 
and  potatoes. 

To-morrow,  God  willing,  we  embark  in  a  smack  at  Leith, 
so  that  you  will  not  hear  from  me  again  till  it  please  Him  to 
take  us  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand  to  London.  In  the  mean- 
time, I  have  only  to  add,  that,  when  the  Session  meets,  I  wish 
you  would  speak  to  the  elders,  particularly  to  Mr.  Craig,  no  to 
be  overly  hard  on  that  poor  donsie  thing,  Meg  Milliken,  about 
her  bairn  ;  and  tell  Tam  Glen,  the  father  o't,  from  me,  that  it 
would  have  been  a  sore  heart  to  that  pious  woman,  his  mother, 
had  she  been  living,  to  have  witnessed  such  a  thing  ;  and 
therefore  I  hope  and  trust,  he  will  yet  confess  a  fault,  and  own 
Meg  for  his  wife,  though  she  is  but  something  of  a  tawpie. 
However,  you  need  not  diminish  her  to  Tam.  I  hope  Mr. 
Snodgrass  will  give  as  much  satisfaction  to  the  parish  as  can 

199        . 


>      ' 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

reasonably  be  expected  in  my  absence  ;  and  I  remain,  dear 
sir,  your  friend  and  pastor,  Zachariah  Tringle. 

Mr.  Micklewham  received  the  Doctor's  letter  about  an  hour 
before  the  Session  met  on  the  case  of  Tarn  Glen  and  Meg 
Milliken,  and  took  it  with  him  to  the  session-house,  to  read  it 
to  the  elders  before  going  into  the  investigation.  Such  a  long 
and  particular  letter  from  the  Doctor  was,  as  they  all  justly 
remarked,  kind  and  dutiful  to  his  |;?onle,  and  a  great  pleasure 
to  them. 

Mr.  Daff  observed,  'Truly  the  Doctor's  a  vera  funny  man, 
and  wonderfu' jocose  about  the  toddy-bowl.'  But  Mr.  Craig  said, 
that  *  sic  a  thing  on  the  Lord's  night  gi'es  me  no  pleasure ; 
and  I  am  for  setting  my  face  against  Waverley's  History  of 
the  Rebellion^  whilk  I  hae  heard  spoken  of  among  the  ungodly, 
both  at  Kilwinning  and  Dairy  ;  and  if  it  has  no  respect  to 
Protestant  principles,  I  doubt  it's  but  another  dose  o'  the 
radical  poison  in  a  new  guise.'  Mr.  Icenor,  however,  thought 
that  *the  observe  on  the  great  Doctor  Drystour  was  very 
edifying ;  and  that  they  should  see  about  getting  him  to  help 
at  the  summer  Occasion.'  ^ 

While  they  w  re  thus  reviewing,  in  their  way,  t'  ■  first 
epistle  of  the  Doctor,  the  betherel  came  in  to  say  Meg 

and  Tam  were  at  the  door.  *Oh,  man,'  said  Mr.  Dt...,  siyly, 
*ye  shouldna  hae  left  them  at  the  door  by  themselves.'  Mr. 
Craig  looked  at  him  austerely,  and  muttered  something  about 
the  growing  immorality  of  this  backsliding  age  ;  but  before  the 
smoke  of  his  indignation  had  kindled  into  eloquence,  the  delin- 
quents were  admitted.  However,  as  we  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  business,  we  shall  leave  them  to  their  own  deliberations. 

^  The  administration  of  the  Sacrament. 


200 


CHArTER    II 


THE   VOYAGE 


On  the  fourteenth  clay  after  the  departure  of  the  family  from 
the  manse,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Charles  Snodgrass,  who  was  appointed 
to  officiate  during  the  absence  of  the  Doctor,  received  the 
following  letter  from  his  old  chum,  Mr.  Andrew  Pringle.  It 
would  appear  that  the  young  advocate  is  not  so  solid  in  the 
head  as  some  of  his  elder  brethren  at  the  Bar  ;  and  therefore 
many  of  his  flights  and  observations  must  be  taken  with  an 
allowance  on  the  score  of  his  youth. 


\l\ 


LETTER    IV 

Andrew  Pringle^  Esq.^  Advocate^  lo  the  Rev. 
Charles  Snodgrass 

London. 

My  dear  Friend — We  have  at  last  reached  London,  after 
a  stormy  passage  of  seven  days.  The  accommodation  in  the 
smacks  looks  extremely  inviting  in  port,  and  in  fine  weather, 
I  doubt  not,  is  confortable,  even  at  sea ;  but  in  February, 
and  in  such  visitations  of  the  powers  of  the  air  as  we  have 
endured,  a  balloon  must  be  a  far  better  vehicle  than  all  the 
vessels  that  have  been  constructed  for  passengers  since  the 
time  of  Noah.  In  the  first  place,  the  waves  of  the  atmosphere 
cannot  be  so  dangerous  as  those  of  the  ocean,  being  but  '  thin 
air ' ;  and  I  am  sure  they  are  not  so  disagreeable ;  then  the 
speed  of  the  balloon  is  so  much  greater, — and  it  would  puzzle 
Professor  Leslie  to  demonstrate  that  its  motions  are  more 
unsteady  ;  besides,  who  ever  heard  of  sea  -  sickness  in  a 
balloon  ?  the  consideration  of  which  alone  would,  to  any  reason- 

20I 


•  I  i 


4r  s^ 


1 1  \ 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

able  person  actually  suffering  under  the  pains  of  that  calamity, 
be  deemed  more  than  an  equivalent  for  all  the  little  fractional 
difference  of  danger  between  the  two  modes  of  travelling.  I 
shall  henceforth  regard  it  as  a  fine  characteristic  trait  of 
our  national  prudence,  that,  in  their  journies  to  France  and 
Flanders,  the  Scottish  witches  always  went  by  air  on  broom- 
sticks and  benweeds,  instead  of  venturing  by  water  in  sieves, 
like  those  of  England.  But  the  English  are  under  the  influence 
of  a  maritime  genius. 

When  we  had  got  as  far  up  the  Thames  as  Gravesend, 
the  wind  and  tide  came  against  us,  so  that  the  vessel  was 
obliged  to  anchor,  and  I  availed  myself  of  the  circumstance, 
to  induce  the  family  to  disembark  and  go  to  London  by  LAND  ; 
and  I  esteem  it  a  fortunate  circumstance  that  we  did  so,  the 
day,  for  the  season,  being  uncommonly  fine.  After  we  had 
taken  some  refreshment,  I  procured  places  in  a  stage-coach 
for  my  mother  and  sister,  and,  with  the  Doctor,  mounted 
myself  on  the  outside.  My  father's  old-fashioned  notions 
boggled  . ,  little  at  first  to  this  arranger^.ent,  which  he  thought 
somewhat  derogatory  to  his  ministerial  dignity  ;  but  his  scruples 
were  in  the  end  overruled. 

The  country  in  this  season  is,  of  course,  seen  to  disadvantage, 
but  still  it  exhibits  beauty  enough  to  convince  us  v-hat  England 
must  be  when  in  leaf.  The  old  gentleman's  admiration  of 
the  increasing  signs  of  what  he  called  civilisation,  as  we 
approached  London,  became  quite  eloquent ;  but  the  first 
view  of  the  city  from  Blackheath  (which,  by  the  bye,  is  a 
^ne  common,  surrounded  with  villas  and  handsome  houses) 
overpowered  his  faculties,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  impres- 
sion it  made  on  myself.  The  sun  was  declined  towards  the 
horizon  ;  vast  masses  of  dark  low-hung  clouds  were  mingled 
wi:h  the  smoky  canopy,  and  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  like  the 
enormoi?  idol  of  some  terrible  deity,  throned  amidst  the 
smoke  i;f  sacrifices  ar.d  magnificence,  darkness,  and  mystery, 
presented  altogether  :tn  object  of  vast  sublimity.  I  felt  touched 
w'th   reverence,  as   if   I   was  indeed   approaching  the  city  of 

THE  HUMAN  POWERS, 

The  distant  view  of  Edinburgh  is  picturesque  and  romantic, 
but  it  affects  a  lower  class  of  our  associations.  It  is,  compared 
to  that  of  London,  what  the  poem  of  the  Seasons  is  with 
respect  to  Paradise  Lost — the  castellated  descriptions  of  Walter 

202 


THE  VOYAGE 

Scott  to  the  Darkness  of  Byron — the  Sabbath  of  Grahame  to 
the  Robbers  of  Schiller.  In  the  approach  to  Edinburgh, 
leisure  and  cheerfulness  are  on  the  road ;  large  spaces  of 
rural  and  pastoral  nature  are  spread  openly  around,  and 
mountains,  and  seas,  and  headlands,  and  vessels  passing 
beyond  them,  going  like  those  that  die,  we  know  not  whither, 
while  the  sun  is  bright  on  their  sails,  and  hope  with  them ;  but, 
in  coming  to  this  Babylon,  there  is  an  eager  haste  and  a 
hurrying  on  from  all  quarters,  towards  that  stupendous  pile 
of  gloom,  through  which  no  eye  can  penetrate  ;  an  unceasing 
sound,  like  the  enginery  of  an  earthquake  at  work,  rolls  from 
the  heart  of  that  profound  and  indefinable  obscurity — some- 
times a  faint  and  yellow  beam  of  the  sun  strikes  here  and 
there  on  the  vast  expanse  of  edifices  ;  and  churches,  and  holy 
asylums,  are  dimly  seen  lifting  up  their  countless  steei;les  and 
spires,  like  so  many  lightning  rods  to  avert  the  wrath  of 
Heaven. 

The  entrance  to  Edinburgh  also  awakens  feelings  of  a 
more  pleasing  character.  The  rugged  veteran  aspect  of  the 
Old  Town  is  agreeably  contrasted  with  the  bright  smooth 
forehead  of  the  New,  and  there  is  not  such  an  overwhelming 
torrent  of  animal  life,  as  to  make  you  pause  before  venturing 
to  stem  it ;  the  noises  are  not  so  deafening,  and  the  occasional 
sound  of  a  ballad -singer,  or  a  Highland  piper,  varies  and 
enriches  the  discords  ;  but  here,  a  multitudinous  assemblage 
of  harsh  alarms,  of  selfish  contentions,  and  of  furious  carriages, 
driven  by  a  fierce  and  insolent  race,  shatter  the  very  hearing, 
till  you  partake  of  the  activitv  with  which  all  seem  as  much 
possessed  as  if  a  general  appp  uension  prevailed,  that  the  great 
clock  of  Time  would  strike  the  doom-hour  before  their  tasks 
weie  done.  But  I  must  stop,  for  the  postman  with  his  bell, 
like  the  betherel  of  some  ancieni  '  borough's  town '  summon- 
ing to  a  burial,  is  in  the  street,  and  warns  me  to  conclude. 
— Yourr,,  ANDREW  Pringle. 


9 

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203 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


LETTER  V 

Tlie  Rev  Dr.  Pringle  to  Mr.  Micklewham^  Schoolmaster 
and  Session-Clerk^  Garnock 

London,  49  Norfolk  Street,  Strand. 

Dear  Sir — On  the  first  Sunday  forthcoming  after  the  receiv- 
ing hereof,  you  will  not  fail  to  recollect  in  the  remembering 
prayer,  that  we  return  thanks  for  our  safe  arrival  in  London, 
after  a  dangerous  voyage.  Well,  indeed,  is  it  ordained  that  we 
should  pray  for  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  and 
do  business  on  the  great  deep ;  for  what  me  and  mine  have  come 
through  is  unspeakable,  and  the  hand  of  Providence  was 
visibly  manifested. 

On  the  day  of  our  embarkation  at  Leith,  a  fair  wind 
took  us  onward  at  a  blithe  rate  for  some  time ;  but  in  the 
course  of  that  night  the  bridle  of  the  tempest  was  slackened, 
and  .he  curb  of  the  billows  loosened,  and  the  ship  reeled  to 
and  fro  like  a  drunken  man,  and  no  one  could  stand  therein. 
My  wife  and  daughter  lay  at  the  point  of  death ;  Andrew 
Pringle,  my  son,  also  was  prostrated  with  the  grievous  affliction ; 
and  the  very  soul  within  me  was  as  if  it  would  have  been 
cast  out  of  the  body. 

On  the  following  day  the  storm  abated,  and  the  wind 
blew  favourable  ;  but  towards  the  heel  of  the  evening  it  again 
became  vehement,  and  there  was  no  help  unto  our  distress. 
About  midnight,  however,  it  pleased  Him,  whose  breath  is  the 
tempest,  to  be  more  sparing  with  the  whip  of  His  displeasure 
on  our  poor  bark,  as  she  hirpled  on  in  her  toilsome  journey 
through  the  waters ;  and  I  was  enabled,  through  His  strength, 
to  lift  my  head  from  the  pillow  of  sickness,  and  ascend  the 
deck,  where  I  thought  of  Noah  looking  out  of  the  window  in 
the  ark,  upon  the  face  of  the  desolate  flood,  and  of  Peter 
walking  on  the  sea ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  it  matters  not  where 
we  are,  for  we  can  be  in  no  place  where  Jehovah  is  not  there 
likewise,  whether  it  be  on  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  or  the 
mountain  tops,  or  in  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death. 

The  third  day  the  wind  came  contrary,  and  in  the  fourth, 
and  the  fifth,  and  the  sixth,  we  were  also  sorely  buffeted  ;  but 
on  the  night  of  the  sixth  we  entered  the  mouth  of  the  river 

204 


i 


THE  VOYAGE 


' 


Thames,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  seventh  day  of  our 
departure,  we  cast  anchor  near  a  town  called  Gravesend, 
where,  to  our  exceeding  great  joy,  it  pleased  Him,  in  whom 
alone  there  is  salvation,  to  allow  us  once  more  to  put  our  foot 
on  the  dry  land. 

When  we  had  partaken  of  a  repast,  the  first  blessed  with 
the  blessing  of  an  appetite,  from  the  day  of  our  leaving  our 
native  land,  we  got  two  vacancies  in  a  stage-coach  for  my  wife 
and  daughter ;  but  with  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son,  I  was 
obligated  to  mount  aloft  on  the  outside.  I  had  some  scruple 
of  conscience  about  this,  for  I  was  afraid  of  my  decorum.  I 
met,  however,  with  nothing  but  the  height  of  discretion  from  the 
other  outside  passengers,  although  I  jealoused  that  one  of  them 
was  a  light  woman.  Really  I  had  no  notion  that  the  English 
were  so  civilised ;  they  were  so  well  bred,  and  the  very 
duddiest  of  them  spoke  such  a  fine  style  of  language,  that  when 
I  looked  around  on  the  country,  I  thought  myself  in  the  land 
of  Canaan.  But  it's  extraordinary  what  a  power  of  drink  the 
coachmen  drink,  stopping  and  going  into  eviry  change-house, 
and  yet  behaving  themselves  with  the  greatest  sobriety.  And 
then  they  are  all  so  well  dressed,  which  is  no  doubt  owing  to 
the  poor  rates.  I  am  thinking,  however,  that  for  all  they  cry 
against  them,  the  poor  rates  are  but  a  small  evil,  since  they 
keep  the  poor  folk  in  such  food  and  raiment,  and  out  of  the 
temptations  to  thievery ;  indeed,  such  a  thing  as  a  common 
beggar  is  not  to  be  seen  in  this  land,  excepting  here  and  there 
a  sorner  or  a  ne'er-do-weel. 

When  we  had  got  to  the  outskirts  of  London,  I  began  to 
be  ashamed  of  the  sin  of  high  places,  and  would  gladly 
have  got  into  the  inside  of  the  coach,  for  fear  of  anybody 
knowing  me  ;  but  although  the  multitude  of  by-goers  was  like 
the  kirk  scailing  at  the  Sacrament,  I  saw  not  a  kent  face,  nor 
one  that  took  the  least  notice  of  my  situation.  At  last  we  got 
to  an  inn,  called  The  White  Horse^  Fetter-Lane,  where  we 
hired  a  hackney  to  take  us  to  the  lodgings  provided  for  us 
here  in  Norfolk  Street,  by  Mr.  Pawkie,  the  Scotch  solicitor,  a 
friend  of  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son.  Now  it  was  that  we  began 
to  experience  the  sharpers  of  London ;  for  it  seems  that  there 
are  divers  Norfolk  Streets.  Ours  was  in  the  Strand  (mind 
that  when  you  direct),  not  very  far  from  Fetter- Lane ;  but  the 
hackney  driver  took  us  away  to  one  afar  oflF,  and  when  we 

205 


m 


•  t 


' 


m\ 


t!- 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

knocked  at  the  number  we  thought  was  ours,  we  found  our- 
selves at  a  house  that  should  not  be  told.  I  was  so  mortified, 
that  I  did  not  know  what  to  say  ;  and  when  Andrew  Pringle, 
my  son,  rebuked  the  man  for  the  mistake,  he  only  gave  a 
cunning  laugh,  and  said  we  should  have  told  him  whatna 
Norfolk  Street  we  wanted,  Andrew  stormed  at  this — but  I 
discerned  it  was  all  owing  to  our  own  inexperience,  and  put  an 
end  to  the  contention,  by  telling  the  man  to  take  us  to  Norfolk 
Street  in  the  Strand,  which  was  the  direction  we  had  got. 
But  when  we  got  to  the  door,  the  coachman  was  so  extortion- 
ate, that  another  hobbleshaw  arose.  Mrs.  Pringle  had  been 
told  that,  in  such  disputes,  the  best  way  of  getting  redress 
was  to  take  the  number  of  the  coach  ;  but,  in  trying  to  do  so, 
we  found  it  fastened  on,  and  I  thought  the  hackneyman  would 
have  gone  by  himself  with  laughter.  Andrew,  who  had  not 
observed  what  we  were  doing,  when  he  saw  us  trying  to  take 
off  the  number,  went  like  one  demented,  and  paid  the  man,  I 
cannot  tell  what,  to  get  us  out,  and  into  the  house,  for  fear  we 
should  have  been  mobbit. 

I  have  not  yet  seen  the  colonel's  agents,  so  can  say  nothing 
as  to  the  business  of  our  coming ;  for,  landing  at  Gravesend, 
we  did  not  bring  our  trunks  with  us,  and  Andrew  has  gone  to 
the  wharf  this  morning  to  get  them,  and,  until  we  get  them, 
we  can  go  nowhere,  which  is  the  occasion  of  my  writing  so 
soon,  knowing  also  how  you  and  the  whole  parish  would  be 
anxious  to  hear  what  had  become  of  us  ;  and  I  remain,  dear 
sir,  your  friend  and  pastor,  Zachariah  pRlNGLE. 

On  Saturday  evening,  Saunders  Dickie,  the  Irvine  postman, 
suspecting  that  this  letter  was  from  the  Doctor,  went  with  it 
himself,  on  his  own  feet,  to  Mr.  Micklewham,  although  the 
distance  is  more  than  two  miles  ;  but  Saunders,  in  addition  to 
the  customary  twal  pennies  on  the  postage,  had  a  dram  for  his 
pains.  The  next  morning  being  wet,  Mr.  Micklewham  had 
not  an  opportunity  of  telling  any  of  the  parishioners  in  the 
churchyard  of  the  Doctor's  safe  arrival,  so  that  when  he  read 
out  the  request  to  return  thanks  (for  he  was  not  only  school- 
master and  session-clerk,  but  also  precentor),  there  was  a 
murmur  of  pleasure  diffused  throughout  the  congregation,  and 
the  greatest  curiosity  was  excited  to  know  what  the  dangers 
were,  from  which  their  worthy  pastor  and  his  whole  family 

206 


i'  Yt 


IJ 


:  i 


( 


Trying  to  take  the  r.uiiiber  of  the  coach. 
Co/iyrif,'lit  1895  liy  Maitnii.'an  &•  Co. 


THE  VOYAGE 

had  so  thankfully  escaped  in  their  voyage  to  London  ;  so  that, 
when  the  service  was  over,  the  elders  adjourned  to  the  session- 
house  to  hear  the  letter  read  ;  and  many  of  the  heads  of 
families,  and  other  respectable  parishioners,  were  admitted  to 
the  honours  of  the  sitting,  who  all  sympathised,  with  the 
greatest  sincerity,  in  the  sufferings  which  their  minister  and 
his  family  had  endured.  Mr.  Daff,  however,  w?.s  justly  chided 
by  Mr.  Craig,  for  rubbing  his  hands,  and  giving  a  sort  of 
sniggering  laugh,  at  the  Doctor's  sitting  on  high  with  a  light 
woman.  But  even  Mr.  Snodgrass  was  seen  to  smile  at  the 
incident  of  taking  the  number  off  the  coach,  the  meaning  of 
which  none  but  himself  seemed  to  understand. 

When  the  epistle  had  been  thus  duly  read,  Mr.  Micklewham 
promised,  for  the  satisfaction  of  some  of  the  congregation, 
that  he  would  get  two  or  three  copies  made  by  the  best  writers 
in  his  school,  to  be  handed  about  the  parish,  and  Mr.  Icenor 
remarked,  that  truly  it  was  a  thing  to  be  held  in  remembrance, 
for  he  had  not  heard  of  greater  tribulation  by  the  waters  since 
the  shipwreck  of  the  Apostle  Paul. 


208 


CHAPTER    III 


THE    LEGACY 

Soon  after  the  receipt  of  the  letters  which  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  communicating  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  the  following  was 
received  from  Mrs.  Pringle,  and  the  intelligence  it  contains  is  so 
interesting  and  important,  that  we  hasten  to  lay  it  before  our 
readers  : — 

LETTER  VI 


I 


Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Mally  Glencairn 


London. 


My  dear  Miss  Mally — You  must  not  expect  no  particulars 
from  me  of  our  journey ;  but  as  Rachel  is  writing  all  the 
calamities  that  befell  us  to  Bell  Tod,  you  will,  no  doubt,  hear 
of  them.  But  all  is  nothing  to  my  losses.  I  bought  from  the 
first  hand,  Mr.  Treddles  the  manufacturer,  two  pieces  of  muslin, 
at  Glasgow,  such  a  thing  not  being  to  be  had  on  any  reason- 
able terms  here,  where  they  get  all  their  fine  muslins  from 
Glasgow  and  Paisley ;  and  in  the  same  bocks  with  them  I 
packit  a  small  crock  of  our  ain  excellent  poudered  butter,  with 
a  delap  cheese,  for  I  was  told  that  such  commodities  are  not  to 
be  had  genuine  in  London.  I  likewise  had  in  it  a  pot  of 
marmlet,  which  Miss  Jenny  Macbride  gave  me  at  Glasgow, 
assuring  me  th?t  it  was  not  only  dentice,  but  a  curiosity  among 
the  English,  and  my  best  new  bumbeseen  goun  in  peper. 
Howsomever,  in  the  nailing  of  the  bocks,  which  I  did 
carefully  with  my  oun  hands,  one  of  the  nails  gaed  in  ajee,  and 
broke  the  pot  of  marmlet,  which,  by  the  jolting  of  the  ship, 
ruined  the  muslin,  rottened  the  peper  round  the  goun,  which 
the  shivers  cut  into  more  than  twenty  great  holes.  Over  and 
P  209 


m 


m 

i 


4 
'if 

I 

!    ;  J 


V 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

above  all,  the  crock  with  the  butter  was,  no  one  can  tell  how, 
crackit,  and  the  pickle  lecking  out,  and  mixing  with  the  seerip 
of  the  marmlet  spoilt  the  cheese.  In  short,  at  the  object  I 
beheld,  when  the  bocks  was  opened,  I  could  have  ta'en  to  the 
greeting  ;  but  I  behaved  with  more  composity  on  the  occasion, 
than  the  Doctor  thought  it  was  in  the  power  of  nature  to  do. 
Howsomever,  till  I  get  a  new  goun  and  other  things,  I  am 
obliged  to  be  a  prisoner ;  and  as  the  Doctor  does  not  like  to 
go  to  the  counting-house  of  the  agents  without  me,  I  know  not 
what  is  yet  to  be  the  consequence  of  our  journey.  But  it 
would  need  to  be  something ;  for  we  pay  four  guineas  and  a 
half  a  week  for  our  dry  lodgings,  which  is  at  a  degree  more 
than  the  Doctor's  whole  stipend.  As  yet,  for  the  cause  of  these 
misfortunes,  I  can  give  you  no  account  of  London  ;  but  there 
is,  as  everybody  kens,  little  thrift  in  their  housekeeping.  We 
just  buy  our  tea  by  the  quarter  a  pound,  and  our  loaf  sugar, 
broken  in  a  peper  bag,  by  the  pound,  which  would  be  a 
disgrace  to  a  decent  family  in  Scotland  ;  and  when  we  order 
dinner,  we  get  no  more  than  just  serves,  so  that  we  have  no 
cold  meat  if  a  stranger  were  coming  by  chance,  which  makes 
an  unco  bare  house.  The  servan  lasses  I  cannot  abide ;  they 
dress  better  at  their  wark  than  ever  I  did  on  an  ordinaire 
week-day  at  the  manse ;  and  this  very  morning  I  saw  madam, 
the  kitchen  lass,  mounted  on  a  pair  of  pattens,  washing  the 
plain  stenes  before  the  door  ;  na,  for  that  matter,  a  bare  foot  is 
not  to  be  seen  within  the  four  walls  of  London,  at  the  least  I 
have  na  seen  no  such  thing. 

In  the  way  of  marketing,  things  are  very  good  here,  and 
considering,  not  dear  ;  but  all  is  sold  by  the  licht  weight,  only  the 
fish  are  awful ;  half  a  guinea  for  a  cod's  head,  and  no  bigger 
than  the  drouds  the  cadgers  bring  from  Ayr,  at  a  shilling  and 
eighteenpence  apiece. 

Tell  Miss  Nanny  Eydent  that  I  have  seen  none  of  the 
fashions  as  yet ;  but  we  are  going  to  the  burial  of  the  auld 
king  next  week,  and  I'll  write  her  a  particular  account  how  the 
leddies  are  dressed ;  but  everybody  is  in  deep  mourning. 
Howsomever  I  have  seen  but  little,  and  that  only  in  a  manner 
from  the  window ;  but  I  could  not  miss  the  opportunity  of  a 
frank  that  Andrew  has  got,  and  as  he's  waiting  for  the  pen, 
you  must  excuse  haste.     From  your  sincere  friend, 

Janet  Pringle. 

2IO 


THE  LEGACY 


ler 
a 


LETTER  VII 
Andrew  P tingle^  Esq.^  io  the  Rev.  Charles  Snodgrass 

London. 

My  dear  Friend — It  will  give  you  pleasure  to  hear  that  my 
father  is  likely  to  get  his  business  speedily  settled  without  any 
equivocation  ;  and  that  all  those  prudential  considerations 
which  brought  us  to  London  were  but  the  phantasms  of  our 
own  inexperience.  I  use  the  plural,  for  I  really  share  in  the 
shame  of  having  called  m  question  the  high  character  of  the 
agents  :  it  ought  to  have  been  warrantry  enough  that  every- 
thing would  be  fairly  adjusted.  But  I  must  give  you  some 
account  of  what  has  taken  place,  to  illustrate  our  provincialism, 
and  to  give  you  some  idea  of  the  way  of  doing  business  in 
London. 

After  having  recovered  from  the  effects,  and  repaired  some 
of  the  accidents  of  our  voyage,  we  yesterday  morning  sallied 
forth,  the  Doctor,  my  mother,  and  your  humble  servant,  in  a 
hackney  coach,  to  Broad  Street,  where  the  agents  have  their 
counting-house,  and  were  ushered  into  a  room  among  other 
legatees  or  clients,  waiting  for  an  audience  of  Mr.  Argent,  the 
principal  of  the  house. 

I  know  not  how  it  is,  that  the  little  personal  peculiarities,  so 
amusing  to  strangers,  should  be  painful  when  we  see  them  in 
those  whom  we  love  and  esteem  ;  but  I  own  to  you,  that  there 
was  a  something  in  the  demeanour  of  the  old  folks  on  this 
occasion,  that  would  have  been  exceedingly  dixerting  to  me, 
had  my  filial  reverence  been  less  sincere  for  them. 

The  establishment  of  Messrs.  Argent  and  Company  is  of  vast 
extent,  and  has  in  it  something  even  of  a  public  magnitude ; 
the  number  of  the  clerks,  the  assiduity  of  all,  and  the  order 
that  obviously  prevails  throughout,  give  at  the  first  sight,  an 
impression  that  bespeaks  respect  for  the  stability  and  integrity 
of  the  concern.  When  we  had  been  seated  about  ten  minutes, 
and  my  father's  name  taken  to  Mr.  Aigent,  an  answer  was 
brought,  that  he  would  see  us  as  soon  as  possible  ;  but  we  were 
obliged  to  wait  at  least  half  an  hour  more.  Upon  our  being  at 
last  admitted,  Mr.  Argent  received  us  standing,  and  in  an  easy 
gentlemanly  manner  said  to  my  father,  *  You  arc  the  residuary 

311 


ii 


11 


.  J'' 
ri'l' ' 


THE  AYKSIIIRK  LEGATKES 

legatee  of  the  late  Colonel  Armour.  I  am  sorry  that  you  did 
not  apprise  me  of  this  visit,  that  I  might  have  been  prepared  to 
give  the  information  you  naturally  desire  ;  but  if  you  will  call  here 
to-morrow  at  1 2  o'clock,  I  shall  then  be  able  to  satisfy  you  on 
the  subject.  Your  lady,  I  presume  ? '  he  addei'  turning  to  my 
mother  ;  '  Mrs.  Argent  will  have  the  honour  of  waiting  on  you  ; 
may  I  therefore  beg  the  favour  of  your  address  ? '  Fortunately 
I  v/as  provided  with  cards,  and  having  given  him  one,  we 
found  ourselves  constrr^ined,  as  it  were,  to  take  our  leave. 
The  whole  interview  did  not  last  two  minutes,  and  I  never  was 
less  satisfied  with  myself.  The  Doctor  and  my  mother  were 
in  the  greatest  anguish ;  and  when  we  were  again  seated  in 
the  coach,  loudly  expressed  their  apprehensions.  They  were 
convinced  that  some  stratagem  was  meditated  ;  they  feared 
that  their  journey  to  London  would  prove  as  little  satisfactory 
as  that  of  the  Wrongheads,  and  that  they  had  been  throwing 
away  good  money  in  building  castles  in  the  air. 

It  had  been  previously  arranged,  that  we  were  to  return  for 
my  sister,  and  afterwards  visit  some  of  the  sights ;  but  the 
clouded  visages  of  her  father  and  mother  darkened  the  very 
spirit  of  Rachel,  and  she  largely  shared  in  their  fears.  This, 
however,  was  not  the  gravest  part  of  the  business  ;  for,  instead 
of  going  to  St.  Paul's  and  the  Tower,  as  we  had  intended,  my 
mother  declared,  that  not  one  farthing  would  they  spend  more 
till  they  were  satisfied  that  the  expenses  already  incurred  were 
likely  to  be  reimbursed  ;  and  a  Chancery  suit,  with  all  the 
horrors  of  wig  and  gown,  floated  in  spectral  haziness  before 
their  imagination. 

We  sat  down  to  a  frugal  meal,  and  although  the  remainder 
of  a  bottle  of  wine,  saved  from  the  preceding  day,  hardly 
afforded  a  glass  apiece,  the  Doctor  absolutely  prohibited  me 
from  opening  another. 

This  morning,  faithful  to  the  hour,  we  were  again  in  Broad 
Street,  with  hearts  knit  up  into  the  most  peremptory  courage  ; 
and,  on  being  announced,  were  immediately  admitted  to  Mr. 
Argent.  He  received  us  with  the  same  ease  as  in  the  first 
interview,  and,  after  requesting  us  to  be  seated  (which,  by  the 
way,  he  did  not  do  yesterday,  a  circumstance  that  was 
ominously  remarked),  he  began  to  talk  on  indifferent  matters, 
I  could  see  that  a  question,  big  with  law  and  fortune,  was 
gathering  in  the  breasts  both  of  the  Doctor  and  my  mother, 

CI2 


THE  LEGACY 


and  that  they  were  in  a  state  far  from  that  of  the  blessed.  But 
one  of  the  clerks,  before  they  had  time  to  express  their 
indignant  suspicions,  entered  with  a  paper,  and  Mr.  Argent, 
having  glanced  it  over,  said  to  the  Doctor — *  I  congratulate 
you,  sir,  on  the  amount  of  the  colonel's  fortune.  I  was  not 
indeed  aware  before  that  he  had  died  so  rich.  He  has  left 
about  ^120,000;  scvcnly-fivc  thousand  of  which  is  in  the 
five  per  cents ;  the  remainder  in  India  bonds  and  other 
securities.  The  legacies  appear  to  be  inconsiderable^  so  that 
the  residue  to  you,  after  paying  them  and  the  expenses  of 
Doctors'  Commons,  will  exceed  a  hundred  thousand  pounds.' 

My  father  turned  his  eyes  upwards  in  thankfulness.  'But,' 
continued  Mr.  Argent,  '  before  the  property  can  be  transferred, 
it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  provide  about  four  thousand 
pounds  to  pay  the  duty  and  other  requisite  expenses.'  This 
was  a  thunderclap.  *  Where  can  I  get  such  a  sum  ? '  ex- 
claimed my  father,  in  a  tone  of  pathetic  simplicity.  Mr. 
Argent  smiled  and  said,  *  We  shall  manage  that  for  you ' ;  and 
having  in  the  same  moment  pulled  a  bell,  a  fine  young  man 
entered,  whom  he  introduced  to  us  as  his  son,  and  desired 
him  to  explain  what  steps  it  was  necessary  for  the  Doctor  to 
take.  We  accordingly  followed  Mr.  Charles  Argent  to  his 
own  room. 

Thus,  in  less  time  than  I  have  been  in  writing  it,  were  we 
put  in  possession  of  all  the  information  we  required,  and  found 
those  whom  we  fearod  might  be  interested  to  withhold  the 
settlement,  alert  and  prompt  to  assist  us. 

Mr.  Charles  Argent  is  naturally  more  familiar  than  his 
father.  He  has  a  little  dash  of  pleasantry  in  his  manner,  with 
a  shrewd  good-humoured  fashionable  air,  that  renders  him 
soon  an  agreeable  acquaintance.  He  entered  with  singular 
felicity  at  once  into  the  character  of  the  Doctor  and  my 
mother,  and  waggishly  drolled,  as  if  he  did  not  understand 
them,  in  order,  I  could  perceive,  to  draw  out  the  simplicity  of 
their  apprehensions.  He  quite  won  the  old  lady's  economical 
heart,  by  ofiferiny  to  frank  her  letters,  for  he  is  in  Parliament. 
*  You  have  probably,'  said  he  slyly,  '  friends  in  the  country,  to 
whom  you  may  be  desirous  of  communicating  the  result  of 
your  journey  to  London  ;  send  your  letters  to  me,  and  I  will 
forward  them,  and  any  that  yoa  expect  may  also  come  under 
cover  to  my  address,  for  postage  is  very  expensive.' 

1-13 


i' 


P! 


i;' 


T  '■ 


■;:   : 


ri ' 


'  i 


;  »j 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

As  we  were  takin^j  our  leave,  after  being  fully  instructed  in 
.ill  the  preliminary  steps  to  be  taken  before  the  transfers  of 
the  funccd  property  can  be  made,  he  asked  me,  in  a  friendly 


"^^^ce*^^ 


'  My/nther  turned  his  eyes  upwards  in  tkanJ{/vlness' 
Copyright  1893  Ay  Macmillan  &  Co. 

manner,  to  dine  with  him  this  evening,  and  I  never  accepted 
an  invitation  with  more  pleasure.  I  consider  his  acquaintance 
a  most  agreeable  acquisition,  and  not  one  of  the  least  of  those 

214 


THE  LEGACY 

advantages  which  this  new  opulence  has  put  it  in  my  power  to 
attain.  The  incidents,  indeed,  of  this  day,  have  been  all 
highly  gratifying,  and  the  new  and  brighter  phase  in  which  I 
have  seen  the  mercantile  character,  as  it  is  connected  with  the 
greatness  and  glory  of  my  country — is  in  itself  equivalent  to 
an  accession  of  useful  knowledge.  I  can  no  longer  wonder  at 
the  vast  power  which  the  British  Government  wielded  during 
the  late  war,  when  I  reflect  that  the  method  and  promptitude 
of  the  house  of  Messrs.  Argent  and  Company  is  common  to  all 
the  great  commercial  concerns  from  which  the  statesmen  de- 
rived, as  from  so  many  reservoirs,  those  immense  pecuniary 
supplies,  which  enabled  them  to  beggar  all  the  resources  of  a 
political  despotism,  the  most  unbounded,  both  in  power  and 
principle,  of  any  tyranny  that  ever  existed  so  long. — Yours, 
etc.,  Andrew  Pringle. 


§ 


II  li 


"5 


(9 
I 

1 

1 

1 

CHAPTER  IV 


THE  TOWN 


There  was  a  great  tea-drinking  held  in  the  Kirkgate  of  Irvine, 
at  the  house  of  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  ;  and  at  that  assemblage 
of  rank,  beauty,  and  fashion,  among  other  delicacies  of  the 
season,  several  new-come-home  Clyde  skippers,  roaring  from 
Greenock  and  Port -Glasgow,  were  served  up — but  nothing 
contributed  more  to  the  entertainment  of  the  evening  than  a 
proposal,  on  the  part  of  Miss  Mally,  that  those  present  who 
had  received  Ic iters  from  the  Pringles  should  read  them  for 
the  benefit  of  the  company.  This  was,  no  doubt,  a  precon- 
certed scheme  between  her  and  P/Iiss  Isabella  Tod,  to  hear 
what  Mr.  Andrew  Pringle  had  said  to  his  friend  Mr.  Snodgrass, 
and  likewise  what  the  Doctor  himself  had  indited  to  Mr. 
Micklewham  ;  some  rumour  having  spread  of  the  wonderful 
escapes  and  adventures  of  the  family  in  their  journey  and 
voyage  to  London.  Had  there  not  been  some  prethought  of 
this  kind,  it  was  not  indeed  probable,  that  both  tlie  helper  and 
session-clerk  of  Garnock  could  have  been  there  together,  in  a 
party,  where  it  was  an  understood  thing,  that  no^  only  Whist 
and  Catch  Honours  were  to  be  pla>od,  but  even  obstreperous 
Birky  itself,  for  the  diversion  of  such  of  the  company  as  were 
not  used  to  gambling  games.  It  was  in  consequt.ice  of  what 
took  place  at  this  Irvine  route,  that  we  were  originally  led  to 
think  of  collecting  the  letters. 


216 


THE  TOWN 


■ 


LETTER  VIII 


s  I 


Al 


Miss  Racltcl  Pringlc  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod 

London. 

My  dear  Ueli It  was  my  heartfelt  intention  to  keep  a 

regular  journal  of  all  our  proceedings,  from  the  sad  day  on 
which  I  bade  a  long  adieu  to  my  native  shades — and  I  per- 
severed with  a  constancy  becoming  our  dear  and  youthful 
friendship,  in  writing  down  everything  that  I  saw,  either  rare 
or  beautiful,  till  the  hour  of  our  departure  from  Leith.  In 
that  faithful  register  of  my  feelings  and  reflections  as  a  traveller, 
1  described  our  embarkation  at  (jreenock,  on  board  the  steam- 
boat,— our  sailing  past  Port-Glasgow,  an  insignificant  town, 
with  a  steeple  ; — the  stupendous  rock  of  Dumbarton  Castle, 
that  Gibraltar  of  antiquity  ; — our  landing  at  Glasgow  ; — my 
astonishment  at  the  magnificence  of  ihat  opulent  metropolis  of 
the  muslin  manufacturers  ;  my  brothers  remark,  that  the 
punch-bowls  on  the  roofs  of  the  Infirmary,  the  Museum,  and 
the  Trades  Hall,  were  emblematic  of  the  universal  estimation 
in  which  that  celebrated  mixture  is  held  by  al!  ranks  and 
degrees — learned,  commercial,  and  even  medical,  of  the  in- 
habitants ; — our  arrival  at  Edinburgh — my  emotion  on  behold- 
ing the  Castle,  and  the  visionary  lake  which  may  be  nightly 
seen  from  the  windows  of  Princes  Street,  between  the  Old 
and  New  Town,  reflecting  the  lights  of  the  lofty  city  beyond — 
with  a  thousand  other  delightful  and  romantic  circumstances, 
which  render  it  no  'onger  surprising  that  the  Edinburgh  folk 
should  be,  as  they  think  themselves,  the  most  accomplished 
people  in  the  world.  But,  alas  !  from  the  moment  I  placed 
my  foot  on  board  that  cruel  vessel,  of  which  the  very  idea  is 
anguish,  all  thoughts  were  swallowed  up  in  suffering — swallowed, 
did  I  say  ?  Ah,  my  dear  iieil,  it  was  the  odious  reverse — but 
imagination  alom;  'an  do  justice  to  the  sul.ject.  Not,  however, 
to  dwell  on  what  is  pjist,  durinj  the  whole  time  of  our  passage 
from  Leith,  I  was  unable  tr  think,  far  less  to  write  ;  and, 
although  there  was  a  \vAViA%C)Vc\t,  young  Hussar  officer  also  a 
passenger,  I  could  not  even  listen  to  the  elegant  compliments 
which  he  seemed  dispo**;/!  to  offer  by  way  of  conso'ation,  when 
he  had  got  the  better  dl  )i;s  own  sickness.      Neither  love  nor 

ill 


i 


V. 


11 

i  'i 


,.1 


n 


I 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

valour  can  withstand  the  influence  of  that  sea-demon.  The 
interruption  thus  occasioned  to  my  observations  made  me 
destroy  my  journal,  and  I  have  now  to  write  to  you  only 
about  London — only  about  London  !  What  an  expression 
for  this  human  universe,  as  my  brother  calls  it,  as  if  my  weak 
feminine  pen  were  equal  to  the  stupendous  theme  ! 

Hut,  before  entering  on  the  subject,  let  me  first  satisfy  the 
anxiety  of  your  faithful  bosom  with  respect  to  my  father's 
legacy.  All  the  accounts,  I  am  happy  to  tell  you,  are  likely 
to  be  amicably  settled  ;  but  the  exact  amount  is  not  known  as 
yet,  only  I  can  see,  by  my  brother's  manner,  that  it  is  not  less 
than  we  expected,  and  my  mother  speaks  about  sending  me  to 
a  boarding-school  to  learn  accomplishments.  Nothing,  how- 
ever, is  to  be  done  until  something  is  actually  in  hand.  But 
what  does  it  all  avail  to  me  ?  Here  am  I,  a  solitary  being  in  the 
midst  of  this  wilderness  of  mankind,  far  from  your  sympathising 
affection,  with  the  dismal  prospect  before  me  of  going  a  second 
time  to  school,  and  wnthout  the  prospect  of  enjoying,  with  my 
own  sweet  companions,  that  light  and  bounding  gaiety  we 
were  wont  to  share,  m  skipping  from  tomb  to  tomb  in  the 
breezy  churchyard  of  Irvine,  like  butterflies  in  spring  flying 
from  flower  to  flower,  as  a  Wordsworth  or  a  Wilson  would 
express  it. 

We  have  got  elegant  lodgings  at  present  in  Norfolk  Street, 
but  my  brother  is  trymg,  with  all  his  address,  to  get  us  re- 
moved to  a  more  fashionable  part  of  the  town,  which,  if  the 
accounts  were  once  seeled,  I  think  will  take  place  ;  and  he 
proposes  to  hire  a  carriage  for  a  whole  month.  Indeed,  he 
has  given  hints  about  the  saving  that  might  be  made  by  buying 
one  of  our  own  ;  but  my  mother  shakes  her  head,  and  says, 
'  Andrew,  dinna  be  carri'L'  From  all  which  it  is  very  plain, 
though  they  don't  allow  me  to  know  their  secrets,  that  the 
legacy  is  worth  the  coming  for.  But  to  return  to  the  lodgings  ; 
— we  have  what  is  called  a  first  and  second  floor,  a  drawing- 
room,  and  three  handsome  bedchambers.  The  drawing-room 
is  very  elegant ;  and  the  carpet  is  the  exact  same  pattern  of 
the  one  in  the  dress-drawing-room  of  Eglintoun  Castle.  Our 
landlady  is  indeed  a  lady,  and  I  am  surprised  how  she  should 
think  of  letting  lodgings,  for  she  dresses  better,  and  wears 
finer  lace,  than  ever  I  saw  in  In'ine.      But  I  am  interrupted. — 

I  now  resume  my  pen.     We  have  just  had  a  call  from  Mrs. 

218 


THE  TOWN 

and  Miss  Argent,  the  wife  and  daughter  of  the  colonel's  maa 
of  business.  They  seem  great  people,  and  came  in  their  own 
chariot,  with  two  grand  footmen  behind  ;  but  they  are  pleasant 
and  easy,  and  the  object  of  their  visit  was  to  invite  us  to  a 
family  dinner  to-morrow,  Sunday.  I  hope  we  may  become 
better  acquainted  ;  but  the  two  livery  servants  make  such  a 
difference  in  our  degrees,  that  I  fear  this  is  a  vain  expectation. 
Miss  Argent  was,  however,  very  frank,  and  told  me  that  she 
was  herself  only  just  come  to  London  for  the  first  time  since 
she  was  a  child,  having  been  for  the  last  seven  years  at  a 
school  in  the  country.  I  shall,  however,  be  better  able  to  say 
more  about  her  in  my  next  letter.  Do  not,  however,  be  afraid 
that  she  shall  ever  supplant  you  in  my  heart.  No,  my  dear 
fri<jnd,  companion  of  my  days  of  innocence, — that  can  never 
be.  ''  •  this  call  from  such  persons  of  fashion  looks  as  if  the 
legacy  tvad  given  us  some  consideration  ;  so  that  I  think  my 
father  and  mother  may  as  well  let  me  know  at  once  what  my 
prospects  are,  that  I  might  show  you  how  disinterestedly  and 
truly  I  am,  my  dear  Bell,  yours,  RACHiiL  Pringle. 


II 


When  Miss  Isabella  Tod  had  read  the  letter,  there  was  a 
solemn  pause  '"'^r  some  time — all  present  knew  something, 
more  or  less,  of  the  fair  writer ;  but  a  carriage,  a  carpet  like 
the  best  at  Eglintoun,  a  Hussar  officer,  and  two  footmen  in 
livery,  were  phantoms  of  such  high  import,  that  no  one  could 
distinctly  express  the  feelings  with  which  the  intelligence 
affected  them.  It  was,  however,  unanimously  agreed,  that 
the  Doctor's  legacy  had  every  symptom  of  bemg  equal  to  what 
it  was  at  first  expected  to  be,  namely,  twenty  thousand  pounds  ; 
— a  sum  which,  by  some  occult  or  recondite  moral  influence  of 
the  Loitery,  is  the  common  maximum,  in  popular  estimation, 
of  any  extraordii  'ry  and  indefinite  windfall  of  fortune.  Miss 
Becky  Glibbans,  trom  the  purest  motives  of  charity,  devoutly 
wished  that  poor  Rachel  might  be  able  to  carry  her  full  cup 
with  a  steady  hand  ;  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Snodgrass,  that  so 
commendable  an  expression  might  not  lose  its  edifying  effect 
by  any  lighter  talk,  requested  Mr.  Micklewham  to  read  his 
letter  from  the  Doctor. 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


LETTER   IX 

The  Rev.  Z.  Prtns^/e^  D.D.,  to  Mr.  Micklewham,  Schoolmaster 
and  Session-Clerk  of  Garnock 

London. 

Dear  Sir — I  have  written  by  the  post  that  will  take  this  to 

hand,  a  letter  to  Banker  M y,  at  Irvine,  concerning  some 

small  matters  of  money  that  I  may  stand  in  need  of  his  opinion 
anent ;  and  as  there  is  a  prospect  now  of  a  settlement  of  the 
legacy  business,  I  wish  you  to  take  a  step  over  to  the  banker, 
and  he  will  give  you  ten  pounds,  which  you  will  administer  to 
the  poor,  by  putting  a  twenty-shilling  note  in  the  plate  on 
Sunday,  as  a  public  testimony  from  me  of  thankfulness  for  the 
hope  that  is  before  us  ;  the  other  nine  pounds  you  will  quietly, 
and  in  your  q\\  n  canny  way,  divide  after  the  following  manner, 
letting  none  of  the  partakers  thereof  know  from  what  other 
hand  than  the  Lord's  tlie  help  comes,  for,  indeed,  from  whom 
but  His  does  any  good  befall  us ! 

You  will  give  to  auld  Mizy  Eccles  ten  shillings.  She's  a 
careful  creature,  and  it  will  go  as  far  with  her  thrift  as  twenty 
will  do  with  Effy  Hopkirk  ;  so  you  will  give  Efify  twenty.  Mrs. 
Binnacle  who  lost  her  husband,  the  sailor,  last  winter,  is,  I 
am  sure,  with  her  two  sickly  bairns,  very  ill  off;  I  would 
therefore  like  if  you  will  lend  her  a  note,  and  ye  may  put  half- 
a-crown  in  the  hand  of  each  of  the  poor  weans  for  a  playock, 
for  she's  a  proud  spirit,  and  will  hear  much  before  she  complain. 
Thomas  Uowy  has  been  long  unable  to  do  a  turn  of  work,  so 
yoii  may  give  him  a  note  too  I  promised  that  donsie  body, 
Willy  Shachle,  the  bctherel,  that  when  I  got  my  legacy,  he 
should  get  a  guinea,  which  would  be  more  to  him  than  if  the 
colonel  had  died  at  home,  and  Jie  had  had  the  howking  of 
his  grave  ;  you  may  therefore,  in  the  meantime,  give  Willy  a 
crown,  and  be  sure  to  waiH  aim  well  no  to  get  fou  with  it,  for 
I'll  be  very  angry  if  he  does.  But  what  in  this  matter  will 
need  all  yout  skill,  is  the  gi^  ing  of  the  remaining  five  pounds 
to  auld  Miss  Betty  Peerie  ;  being  a  gentlewoman  both  by  blood 
and  education,  she's  a  very  slimmer  affair  to  handle  in  a  doing 
of  this  kind.  But  I  am  per-naded  she's  in  as  great  necessity 
as  many  that   seem  far  poorer,   especially  since  the  muslin 

220 


THE  TOWN 


flowering  has  gone  so  down.  Her  bits  of  brats  are  sairly  worn, 
though  she  keeps  out  an  apparition  of  gentihty.  Now,  for  all 
this  trouble,  I  will  give  you  an  account  of  what  we  have  been 
doing  since  my  last. 

When  we  had  gotten  ourselves  made  up  in  order,  we  went, 
with  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son,  to  the  counting-house,  and  had 
a  satisfactory  vista  of  the  residue  ;  but  it  will  be  some  time 
before  things  can  be  settled — indeed,  I  fear,  not  for  months 
to  come — so  that  I  have  been  thinkint'  if  the  parish  was 
pleased  with  Mr.  Snodgrass,  it  might  oe  my  duty  to  my  people 
to  give  up  to  him  my  stipend,  and  let  him  be  appointed  not 
only  helper,  but  successor  likewise.  It  would  not  be  right  of 
me  to  give  the  manse,  both  because  he's  a  young  and  inex- 
perienced man,  and  cannot,  in  the  course  of  nature,  have  got 
into  the  way  of  visiting  the  sick-beds  of  the  frail,  which  is  the 
main  part  of  a  pastor's  duty,  and  likewise,  because  I  wish  to 
die,  as  I  have  lived,  among  m.y  people.  But,  when  all's  settled, 
I  will  know  better  what  to  do. 

When  we  had  got  an  inkling  from  Mr.  Argent  of  what  the 
colonel  has  left, — and  I  do  assure  you,  that  money  is  not  to 
be  got,  even  in  the  way  of  legacy,  without  anxiety, — Mrs. 
Pringle  and  I  consulted  together,  and  resolved,  that  it  was  our 
first  duty,  as  a  token  of  our  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of  all  Good, 
to  make  our  first  outlay  to  the  poor.  So,  without  saying  a  word 
either  to  Rachel,  or  to  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son,  knowing  that 
there  was  a  daily  worship  in  the  Church  of  England,  we  slipped 
out  of  the  house  by  ourselves,  and,  hiring  a  hackney  convey- 
ance, told  the  driver  thereof  to  drive  us  to  the  high  church  of 
St.  Paul's.  This  was  out  of  no  respect  to  the  pomp  and  pride 
of  prelacy,  but  to  Him  before  whom  both  pope  and  presbyter 
are  equal,  as  they  are  seen  through  the  merits  of  Christ  Jesus. 
We  had  taken  a  gold  guinea  in  our  hand,  but  there  was  no 
broad  at  the  door ;  and,  instead  of  a  venerable  elder,  lending 
sanctity  to  his  office  by  reason  of  his  age,  such  as  we  see  in 
the  effectual  institutions  of  our  own  national  church — the  door 
was  kept  by  a  young  man,  much  more  like  a  writer's  whipper- 
snapper-clerk,  than  one  qualified  to  fill  that  station,  which  good 
King  David  would  have  preferred  to  dwelling  in  tents  of  sin. 
However,  we  were  not  come  to  spy  the  nakedness  of  the  land, 
so  we  went  up  the  outside  stairs,  and  I  asked  at  him  for  the 
plate  ;  '  Plate  ! '  says  he  ;  '  why,  it's  on  the  altar  ! '    I  should  have 

221 


r  ■ 


ll 


ii  i 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


h 


known  this — the  custom  of  old  being  to  lay  the  offerings  on 
the  altar,  but  I  had  forgot ;  such  is  the  force,  you  see,  of  habit, 
that  the  Church  of  England  is  not  so  well  reformed  and  purged 
as  ours  is  from  the  abominations  of  the  leaven  of  idolatry. 
We  were  then  stepping  forward,  when  he  said  to  me,  as  sharply 
as  if  I  was  going  to  take  an  advantage,  '  You  must  pay  here.' 

*  Very  well,  wherever  it  is  customary,'  said  I,  in  a  meek 
manner,  and  gave  him  the  guinea.     Mrs.  Pringle  did  the  same. 

*  I  cannot  give  you  change,'  cried  he,  with  as  little  decorum  as 
if  we  had  been  paying  at  a  playhouse.  '  It  makes  no  odds,' 
said  I  ;  'keep  it  all.'  Whereupon  he  was  so  converted  by  the 
mammon  of  iniquity,  that  he  could  not  be  civil  enough,  he 
thought — but  conducted  us  in,  and  showed  us  the  marble 
monuments,  and  the  French  colours  that  were  taken  in  the 
war,  till  the  time  of  worship — nothing  could  surpass  his  dis- 
cretion. 

At  last  the  organ  began  to  sound,  and  we  went  into  the 
place  of  worship  ;  but  oh,  Mr.  Micklewham,  yon  is  a  thin  kirk. 
There  was  not  a  hearer  forby  Mrs.  Pringle  and  me,  saving 
and  excepting  the  relics  of  popery  that  assisted  at  the  service. 
What  was  said,  I  must,  however,  in  verity  confess,  was  not 
far  from  the  point.  But  it's  still  a  comfort  to  see  that  prelatical 
usurpations  are  on  the  downfall ;  no  wonder  that  there  is  no 
broad  at  the  door  to  receive  the  collection  for  the  poor,  when 
no  congregation  entereth  in.  You  may,  therefore,  tell  Mr. 
Craig,  and  it  will  gladden  his  heart  to  hear  the  tidings,  that 
the  great  Babylonian  madam  is  now,  indeed,  but  a  very  little 
cutty. 

On  our  return  home  to  our  lodgings,  we  found  Andrew 
Pringle,  my  son,  and  Rachel,  in  great  consternation  about  our 
absence.  When  we  told  them  that  we  had  been  at  worship,  I 
saw  they  were  both  deeply  affected  ;  and  I  was  pleased  with  my 
children,  the  more  so,  as  you  know  I  have  had  my  doubts  that 
Andrew  Pringle's  principles  have  not  been  strengthened  by  the 
reading  of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  Nothing  more  passed  at  that 
time,  for  we  were  disturbed  by  a  Captain  Sabre  that  came  up 
with  us  in  the  smack,  calling  to  see  how  we  were  after  our 
journey ;  and  as  he  was  a  civil  well-bred  young  man,  which  I 
marvel  at,  considering  he's  a  Hussar  dragoon,  we  took  a  coach, 
and  went  to  see  the  lions,  as  he  said ;  but,  instead  of  taking 
us  to  the  Tower  of  London,  as  I  expected,  he  ordered  the  man 

223 


THE  TOWN 


!    I 


to  drive  us  round  the  town.  In  our  way  through  the  city  he 
showed  us  the  Temple  Bar,  where  Lord  Kilmarnock's  head 
was  placed  after  the  Rebellion,  and  pointed  out  the  Hank  of 
England  and  Royal  Exchange.  He  said  the  steeple  of  the 
Exchange  was  taken  down  shortly  ago — and  that  the  late 
improvements  at  the  Bank  were  very  grand.  I  remembered 
having  read  in  the  Edinburgh  Advertiser^  some  years  past, 
that  there  was  a  great  deal  said  in  Parliament  about  the  state 
of  the  Exchange,  and  the  condition  of  the  Hank,  which  I  could 
never  thoroughly  understand.  And,  no  doubt,  the  taking  down 
of  an  old  building,  and  the  building  up  of  a  new  one  so  near 
together,  must,  in  such  a  crowded  city  as  this,  be  not  only  a 
great  detriment  to  business,  but  dangerous  to  the  community 
at  large. 

After  we  had  driven  about  for  more  than  two  hours,  and 
neither  seen  lions  nor  any  other  curiosity,  but  only  the  outside 
of  houses,  we  returned  home,  where  we  found  a  copperplate 
card  left  by  Mr.  Argent,  the  colonel's  agent,  with  the  name 
of  his  private  dwelling-house.  Both  me  and  Mrs.  Pringle 
were  confounded  at  the  sight  of  this  thing,  and  could  not  but 
think  that  it  prognosticated  no  good ;  for  we  had  seen  the 
gentleman  himself  in  the  forenoon.  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son, 
could  give  no  satisfactory  reason  for  such  an  extraordinary 
manifestation  of  anxiety  to  see  us;  so  that,  after  sitting  on 
thorns  at  our  dinner,  I  thought  that  we  should  see  to  the 
bottom  of  the  business.  Accordingly,  a  hackney  was 
summoned  to  the  door,  and  me  and  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son, 
got  into  it,  and  told  the  man  to  drive  to  second  in  the  street 
where  Mr.  Argent  lived,  and  which  was  the  number  of  his 
house.  The  man  got  up,  and  away  we  went ;  but,  after  he 
had  driven  an  awful  time,  and  stopping  and  inquiring  at 
different  places,  he  said  there  was  no  such  house  as  Second's 
in  the  street ;  whereupon  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son,  asked  him 
what  he  meant,  and  the  man  said  that  he  supposed  it  was  one 
Second's  Hotel,  or  Coffee-house,  that  we  wanted.  Now,  only 
think  of  the  craftiness  of  the  ne'er-da-weel ;  it  was  with  some 
difficulty  that  I  could  get  him  to  understand,  that  second  was 
just  as  good  as  number  two ;  for  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son, 
would  not  interfere,  but  lay  back  in  the  coach,  and  was  like  to 
split  his  sides  at  my  confabulating  with  the  hackney  man.  At 
long  and  length  we  got  to  the  house,  and  were  admitted  to 

223 


!  I 


r  ; 


.'f  '■ 


'\V 


'W 


H  ! 


# 


l!i 


u 


THK  AYRSHIRE  LEr.ATKES 


I 


I 


Mr.  Argent,  who  was  sitting  by  himself  in  his  hbrary  reading, 
with  a  plate  of  oranges,  and  two  decanters  with  wine  before 
him.  I  explained  to  him,  as  well  as  I  could,  my  surprise  and 
anxiety  at  seeing  his  card,  at  which  he  smiled,  and  said,  it  was 
merely  a  sort  of  practice  that  had  come  into  fashion  of  late 
years,  and  that,  although  we  had  been  at  his  counting-house  in 
the  morning,  he  considered  it  re(|uisite  that  he  should  call  on 
his  return  from  the  city.  I  made  the  best  excuse  I  could  for 
the  mistake  ;  and  the  r^ervant  having  placed  glasses  on  the 
table,  we  were  invited  to  take  ^>ine.  But  I  was  grieved  to 
think  that  so  respectable  a  man  should  have  had  the  bottles 
before  him  by  himself,  the  more  especially  as  he  said  his  wife 
and  daughters  had  gone  to  a  party,  and  that  he  did  not  much 
like  such  sort  of  things.  But  for  all  that,  we  found  him  a 
wonderful  conversible  man  ;  and  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son, 
having  read  all  the  new  books  put  out  at  Edinburgh,  could 
speak  with  him  on  any  subject.  In  the  course  of  conversation 
they  touched  upon  politick  economy,  and  Andrew  Pringle,  my 
son,  in  speaking  about  cash  in  the  Bank  of  England,  told  him 
what  I  had  said  concerning  the  alterations  of  the  Royal 
Exchange  steeple,  with  which  Mr.  Argent  seemed  greatly 
pleased,  and  jocosely  proposed  as  a  toast, — *  May  the  country 
never  suffer  more  from  the  alterations  in  the  Exchange,  than 
the  taking  down  of  the  steeple.'  But  as  Mrs.  Pringle  is 
wanting  to  send  a  bit  line  under  the  same  frank  to  her  cousin. 
Miss  Mally  Glencairn,  I  must  draw  to  a  conclusion,  assuring 
you,  that  I  am,  clear  sir,  your  sincere  friend  and  pastor, 

Zachariah  Pringle. 


The  impression  which  this  letter  made  on  the  auditors  of 
Mr.  Micklewham  was  highly  favourable  to  the  Doctor — all 
bore  testimony  to  his  benevolence  and  piety ;  and  Mrs. 
Glibbans  expressed,  in  very  loquacious  terms,  her  satisfaction 
at  the  neglect  to  which  prelacy  was  consigned.  The  only 
person  who  seemed  to  be  affected  by  other  than  the  most 
sedate  feelings  on  the  occasion  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Snodgrass, 
who  was  observed  to  smile  in  a  very  unbecoming  manner  at 
some  parts  of  the  Doctor's  account  of  his  reception  at  St. 
Paul's.  Indeed,  it  was  apparently  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
the  young  clergyman  could  restrain  himself  from  giving  liberty 
to  his  risible  faculties.      It  is  really  surprising  how  differently 

224 


THK  TOWN 

the   same  thing  affects   different   people.      *The    Doctor  and 
Mrs.  Pr ingle  giving  a  guinea  at  the  door  of  St.  Paul's  for  the 


'  Gathering  wrath  and  holy  itidignation.' 

poor  need  not  make  folk  laugh,'  said  Mrs.  Glibbans  ;  'for  is  it 
not  written,  that  whosoever  giveth  to  the  poor  lendeth  to  the 
Q  225 


t 


t : 


J.  I 


u 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


Lord?'  'True,  my  dear  madam,'  replied  Mr.  Snodgrass, 
*  but  the  Lord  to  whom  our  friends  in  this  case  gave  their 
money  is  the  Lord  Bishop  of  London ;  all  the  collection 
made  at  the  doors  of  St,  Paul's  Cathedral  is,  I  understand,  a 
perquisite  of  the  Bishop's.'  In  this  the  reverend  gentleman 
was  not  very  correctly  informed,  for,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  not 
a  collection,  but  an  exaction  ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  it  is 
only  sanctioned  by  the  Bishop,  who  allows  the  inferior  clergy 
to  share  the  gains  among  themselves.  Mrs.  Glibbans,  however, 
on  hearing  his  explanation,  exclaimed,  '  Gude  be  about  us  ! ' 
and  pushing  back  her  chair  with  a  bounce,  streaking  down  her 
gown  at  the  same  time  with  both  her  hands,  added,  *  No 
wonder  that  a  judgment  is  upon  the  land,  when  ^ve  hear  of 
money-changers  in  the  temple.'  Miss  Mally  Glencairn,  to 
appease  her  gathering  wrath  and  holy  indi.^nation,  said 
facetiously,  *  Na,  na,  Mrs.  Glibbans,  ye  forget,  there  was  nae 
changing  of  money  there.  The  man  took  the  whole  guineas. 
But  not  to  make  a  controversy  on  the  subject,  Mr.  Snodgrass 
will  now  let  us  hear  what  Andrew  Pringle,  "my  son,"  has  said 
to  him'  : — And  the  reverend  gentleman  read  the  following 
letter  with  due  circumspection,  and  in  his  best  manner  : — 


LETTER  X 
Andrew  Pringle^  Esq.,  to  the  Reverend  Char  Us  Snodgrass 

My  dear  Friend — I  have  heard  it  alleged,  as  the  observa- 
tion of  a  great  traveller,  that  the  manners  of  the  higher  classes 
of  society  throughout  Christendom  are  so  much  alike,  that 
national  peculiarities  among  them  are  scarcely  perceptible. 
This  is  not  correct ;  the  differences  between  those  of  London 
and  Edinburgh  are  to  me  very  striking.  It  ib  not  that  they 
talk  and  perform  the  little  etiquettes  of  social  intercourse 
differently ;  for,  in  these  respects,  they  are  apparently  as 
similar  as  it  is  possible  for  imitation  to  make  them  ;  but  the 
difference  to  which  I  refer  is  an  indescribable  something,  which 
can  only  be  compared  to  peculiarities  of  accent.  They  both 
speak  the  same  language ;  perhaps  in  classical  purity  of 
phraseology  the  fashionable  Scotchman  is  even  superior  to  the 
Englishman  ;  but  there  is  a  flatness  of  tone  in  his  accent — a 

226 


THE  TOWN 


lack  of  what  the  musician.,  call  expression,  which  gives  a  local 
and  provincial  effect  to  his  conversation,  however,  in  other 
respects,  learned  and  intelligent.  It  is  so  with  his  manners  ; 
he  conducts  himself  with  equal  ease,  self-possession,  and 
discernment,  but  the  flavour  of  the  metropolitan  style  is 
wanting. 

I  have  been  led  to  make  these  remarks  by  what  I  noticed 
in  the  guests  whom  I  met  on  Friday  at  young  Argent's.  It 
was  a  small  party,  only  five  strangers  ;  but  they  seemed  to  be 
all  particular  friends  of  our  host,  and  yet  none  of  them 
appeared  to  be  on  any  terms  of  intimacy  with  each  other.  In 
Edinburgh,  such  a  party  would  have  been  at  first  a  little  cold ; 
each  of  the  guests  would  there  have  paused  to  estimate  the 
characters  of  the  several  strangers  before  committing  himself 
with  any  topic  of  conversation.  TJut  here,  the  circumstance  of 
being  brought  together  by  a  mutual  friend,  produced  at  once 
the  purest  gentlemanly  confidence ;  each,  as  it  were,  took  it 
for  granted,  that  the  persons  whom  he  had  come  among  were 
men  of  education  and  good-breeding,  and,  without  deeming  it 
at  all  necessary  that  he  should  know  something  of  their 
respective  political  and  philosophical  principles,  before  venturing 
to  speak  on  such  subjects,  discussed  frankly,  and  as  things 
unconnected  with  party  feelings,  incidental  occurrences  which, 
in  Edinburgh,  would  have  been  avoided  as  calculated  to 
awaken  animosities. 

But  the  most  remarkable  feature  of  the  company,  small  as 
it  was,  consisted  of  the  difference  in  the  condition  and  character 
of  the  guests.  In  Edinburgh  the  landlord,  with  the  scrupulous 
care  of  a  herald  or  genealogist,  would,  for  a  party,  previously 
unacquainted  with  each  other,  have  chosen  his  guests  as  nearly 
as  posp'i  .  from  the  same  rank  of  life ;  the  London  host  had 
pei' ^  .J  -spect  to  any  such  consideration — all  the  strangers 
were  an  dissimilar  in  fortune,  profession,  connections,  and 
politics,  as  any  four  men  in  the  class  of  gentlemen  could  well 
be.      I  never  spent  a  more  delightful  evening. 

The  ablest,  the  most  eloquent,  and  the  most  eU\L(ant  man 
present,  without  question,  was  the  son  of  a  saddler.  No 
expense  had  been  spared  on  his  education.  His  father,  proud 
of  his  talents,  had  intended  him  for  a  seat  in  Parliament ;  but 

Mr.  T himself  prefers  the  easy  enjoyments  of  private  life, 

and  has  kept  himself  aloof  from  politics  and  parties.     Were  I 

227 


1 
"  I- 


\{ 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEdATEES 

to  form  an  estimate  of  his  qualifications  to  excel  in  public 
speaking,  by  the  clearness  and  beautiful  propriety  of  his  collo- 
quial language,  I  should  conclude  that  he  was  still  destined  to 
perform  a  distinguished  part.  But  he  is  content  with  the 
liberty  of  a  private  station,  as  a  spectator  only,  and,  perhaps, 
in  that  i.e  shows  his  wisdom  ;  for  undoubtedly  such  men  are 
not  cordially  received  among  hereditary  statesmen,  unless  they 
evince  a  certain  suppleness  of  principle,  such  as  we  have  seen 
in  the  conduct  of  more  than  one  political  adventurer. 

The  next  in  point  of  effect  was  young  C G .     He 

evidently  languished  under  the  influence  of  indisposition, 
which,  while  it  added  to  the  natural  gentleness  of  his  manners, 
diminished  the  impression  his  accomplishments  would  other- 
wise have  made.  I  was  greatly  struck  with  the  modesty  with 
which  he  offered  his  opinions,  and  could  scarcely  credit  that 
he  was  the  same  individual  whose  eloquence  in  Parliament  is 
by  many  compared  even  to  Mr.  Canning's,  and  whose  firmness 
of  principle  is  so  universally  acknowledged,  that  no  one  ever 
suspects  him  of  being  liable  to  change.  You  may  have  heard 
of  his  poem  '  On  the  Restoration  of  Learning  in  the  East,'  the 
most  magnificent  prize  essay  that  the  English  Universities 
have  produced  for  many  years.  The  passage  in  which  he 
describes  the  talents,  the  researches,  and  learning  of  Sir 
William  Jones,  is  worthy  of  the  imagination  of  Burke ;  and 
yet,  with  all  this  oriental  splendour  of  fancy,  he  has  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  a  patient  and  methodical  man  of  business.  He 
looks,  however,  much  more  like  a  poet  or  a  student,  than  an 
orator  and  a  statesman ;  and  were  statesmen  the  sort  of 
personages  which  the  spirit  of  the  age  attempts  to  represent 
them,  I,  for  one,  should  lament  that  a  young  man,  possessed 
of  so  many  amiable  qualities,  all  so  tinted  with  the  bright 
lights  of  a  fine  enthusiasm,  should  ever  have  been  removed  from 
the  moon -lighted  groves  and  peaceful  cloisters  of  Magdalen 
College,  to  the  lamp-smelling  passages  and  factious  debates  of 

St.  Stephen's  Chapel.    Mr.  G certainly  belongs  to  that  high 

class  of  gifted  men  who,  to  the  honour  of  the  age,  have 
redeemed  the  literary  character  from  the  charge  of  unfitness 
for  the  concerns  of  public  business ;  and  he  has  shown  that 
talents  for  affairs  of  state,  connected  with  literary  predilections, 
are  not  limited  to  mere  reviewers,  as  some  of  your  old  class- 
fellows  would  have  the  world  to  believe.     When  I  contrast  tl  3 

228 


THE  TOWN 


quiet  unobtrusive  development  of  Mr.  G 's  character  with 

that  bustling  and  obstreperous  elbowing  into  notice  of  some  of 
those  to  whom  the  luiinbur^^^h  Rei'icw  owes  half  its  fame,  and 
compare  the  pure  .ind  steady  lustre  of  his  elevation,  to  the 
rocket- like  aberratiows  and  perturbed  blaze  of  their  still  un- 
certain course,  I  cannot  but  think  that  we  have  overrated,  if 
not  their  .ability,  at  least  their  wisdom  in  the  management  of 
public  affairs. 

The  third  of  the  party  was  a  little  Yorkshire  baronet.  He 
was  formerly  in  Parliament,  but  left  it,  as  he  says,  on  account 
of  its  irregularities,  and  the  bad  hours  it  kept.  He  is  a  Whig, 
I  understand,  in  politics,  and  indeed  one  might  guess  as 
much  by  looking  at  him  ;  for  I  have  always  remarked,  that 
your  Whigs  have  something  odd  and  particular  about  them. 
On  making  the  same  sort  of  remark  to  Argent,  who,  by  the 
way,  is  a  high  ministerial  man,  he  observed,  the  thing  was  not 
to  be  wondered  at,  considering  that  the  Whigs  arc  exceptions 
to  the  generality  of  mankind,  which  naturally   accounts  for 

their  being  always  in  the  minority.     Mr.  T ,  the  saddler's 

son,  who  overheard  us,  said  slyly,  •  That  it  might  be  so ;  but 
if  it  be  true  that  the  wise  are  few  compared  to  the  multitude 
of  the  foolish,  things  would  be  better  managed  by  the  minority 
than  as  they  are  at  present.* 

The  fourth  guest  w.is  a  stock-broker,  a  shrewd  compound, 
with  all  charity  be  it  spoken,  of  knavery  and  humour.  He  is 
by  profession  an  epicure,  but  I  suspect  his  accomplishments  in 
that  capacity  are  not  very  well  founded  ;  I  would  almost  say, 
judging  by  the  evident  traces  of  craft  and  dissimulation  in  his 
physiognomy,  that  they  have  been  assumed  as  part  of  the 
means  of  getting  into  good  company,  to  drive  the  more  earnest 
trade  of  money-making.  Argent  evidently  understood  his  true 
character,  though  he  treated  him  with  jocular  familiarity.  I 
thought  it  a  fine  example  of  the  intellectual  tact  and  superiority 
of  T ,  that  he  seemed  to  view  him  with  dislike  and  con- 


tempt. But  I  must  not  give  you  my  reasons  for  so  thinking, 
as  you  set  no  value  on  my  own  particular  philosophy ;  besides, 
my  paper  tells  me,  that  I  have  only  room  left  to  say,  that  it 
would  be  difficult  in  Edinburgh  to  bring  such  a  party  together ; 
and  yet  they  affect  there  to  have  a  metropolitan  character. 
In  saying  this,  I  mean  only  with  reference  to  manners ;  the 
methods  of  behaviour  in  each  of  the  company  were  precisely 

229 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

similar — there  was  no  eccentricity,  but  only  that  distinct  and 
decided  individuaUty  which  nature  gives,  and  which  no  acquired 
habits  can  change.  Each,  however,  was  the  representative  of 
a  class  ;  and  Edinburgh  has  no  rlasocs  exactly  of  the  same 
kind  as  those  to  which  they  belonged. — Yours  truly, 

Andrew  Pringle. 

Just  as  Mr.  Snodgrass  concluded  the  last  sentence,  one  of 
the  Clyde  skippers,  who  had  fallen  asleep,  gave  such  an 
extravagant  snore,  followed  by  a  groan,  that  it  set  the  whole 
company  a-laughing,  and  interrupted  the  critical  strictures 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  made  on  Mr.  Andrew 
Pringle's  epistle.  •  Damn  it,*  said  he,  '  I  thought  myself  in  a 
fog,  and  could  not  tell  whether  the  land  ahead  was  Plada  or 
the  Lady  Isle.'  Some  of  the  company  thought  the  observation 
not  inapplicable  to  what  they  had  been  hearing. 

Miss  Isabella  Tod  then  begged  that  Miss  Mally,  their 
hostess,  would  favour  the  company  with  Mrs.  Pringle's  com- 
munication. To  this  request  that  considerate  maiden  ornament 
of  the  Kirkgate  deemed  it  necessary,  by  way  of  preface  to  the 
letter,  to  say,  '  Ye  a'  ken  that  Mrs.  Pringle's  a  managing 
woman,  and  ye  maunna  expoct  any  metaphysical  philosophy 
from  her.'  In  the  meantime,  having  taken  the  letter  from  her 
pocke'.,  and  placed  her  spectacles  on  hat  functionary  of  the 
face  which  was  destined  to  wear  spectacles,  she  began  r.s 
follows : — 


LETTER  XI 

Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Mally  Glencaim 

My  dear  Miss  Mally — We  have  been  at  the  counting- 
house,  and  gotten  a  sort  of  a  satisfaction  ;  what  the  upshot  may 
be,  I  canna  take  it  upon  myself  to  prognosticate  ;  but  when  the 
waur  comes  to  the  worsi,  I  think  that  baith  Rachel  and 
Andrew  will  have  a  nest  ^g?,^  and  the  Doctor  and  me  may 
sleep  sound  on  their  account,  if  the  nation  doesna  break,  as 
the  argle-baiglers  in  the  House  of  Parliament  have  been 
threatening :  for  all  the  comal's  fortune  is  sunk  at  present  in 
the  pesents.     Howsomever,  it's  our  notion,  when  the  legacies 

230 


THE  TOWN 


are  paid  oflf,  to  lift  the  money  out  of  the  funds,  and  place  it  at 
j^ood  interest  on  hairetable  securitie.  But  ye  will  hear  aften 
from  us,  before  things  come  to  that,  for  the  delays,  and  the 
going's,  and  the  comings  in  this  town  of  London  are  past  all 
exprcshon. 

As  yet,  we  have  been  to  see  no  fairlies,  except  going  in  a 
coach  from  one  part  of  the  toun  to  another  ;  but  the  Doctor 
and  me  was  at  the  he-kirk  r.f  Saint  Paul's  for  a  purpose  that  I 
need  not  tell  you,  as  it  was  adoing  with  the  right  hand  what 
the  left  should  not  know,  )  couldna  say  that  I  had  there 
great  pleasure,  lor  the  preacher  was  very  cauldrife,  and  read 
every  word,  md  then  there  was  such  a  beggary  of  popish 
prelacy.  *^:^i  it  was  compassionate  to  a  Christian  to  see. 

We  arc  to  dine  at  Mr.  Argei/'s,  the  comal's  hadgint,  on 
Sunday,  and  me  and  Ruchel  have  bec'.i  getting  something  for 
the  okasion.  Our  landlady,  M'-s.  Sharkly,  has  recouimended 
us  to  ane  of  the  most  tashionable  millinders  in  London,  who 
keeps  a  grand  shop  in  Cranburn  Alia,  .and  she  hr.s  brought  us 
arteecles  to  look  at ;  but  I  was  surprised  they  were  not  finer, 
for  I  thought  them  of  a  very  inferior  quality,  which  she  said 
wab  because  they  were  not  made  for  no  costomer,  but  for  the 
public. 

The  Argents  seem  as  if  they  would  be  discreet  people, 
which,  to  us  who  are  here  in  the  jaws  of  jeopardy,  would  be  a 
great  confort — for  I  am  no  overly  satisfcet  with  many  things. 
What  would  ye  think  of  buying  coals  by  the  stimpert,  for  any- 
thing that  I  know,  and  then  setting  up  the  poker  afore  the 
ribs,  instead  of  blowing  with  the  bellies  to  make  the  fire  burn  ? 
I  was  of  a  pinion  that  the  Englishers  were  naturally  wasterful ; 
but  I  can  ashure  you  this  is  no  the  case  at  all — and  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that  the  way  of  leeving  from  hand  to  mouth 
is  great  frugality,  when  ye  consider  that  all  is  left  in  the  logive 
hands  of  uncercumseezed  servans. 

Hut  what  gives  me  the  most  concern  at  this  time  is  one 
Captain  Sabre  of  the  Dragoon  Hozars,  who  come  up  in  the 
smak  with  us  from  Leith,  and  is  looking  more  after  our  Rachel 
than  I  could  wish,  now  that  she  might  set  her  cap  to  another 
sort  of  object.  But  he's  of  a  respectit  family,  and  the  young 
lad  himself  is  no  to  be  despisid  ;  howsomever,  I  never  likit 
officir-men  of  any  description,  and  yet  the  thing  that  makes 
me  look  down  on  the  captain  is  all  owing  to  the  cornal,  who 

231 


!^ 


1 


( 


'   H 


V 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

was  an  officer  of  the  native  poors  of  India,  where  the  pay  must 
indeed  have  been  extraordinar,  for  who  ever  heard  either  of  a 
comal,  or  any  officer  whomsoever,  making  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  in  our  regiments  ?  no  that  I  say  the  comal  has  left  so 
meikle  to  us. 

Tell  Mrs.  Glibbans  that  I  have  not  heard  of  no  sound 
preacher  as  yet  in  London — the  want  of  which  is  no  doubt  the 
great  cause  of  the  crying  sins  of  the  place.  What  would  she 
think  to  hear  of  newspapers  selling  by  tout  of  horn  on  the 
Lord's  day  ?  and  on  the  Sabbath  night,  the  change-houses  are 
more  throng  than  on  the  Saturday !  I  am  told,  but  as  yet  I 
cannot  say  that  I  have  seen  the  evil  myself  with  my  own  eyes, 
that  m  the  summer  time  there  are  tea-gardens,  where  the 
tradesmen  go  to  smoke  their  pipes  of  tobacco,  and  to  entertain 
their  wives  and  children,  which  can  be  nothing  less  than  a 
bringing  of  them  to  an  untimely  end.  But  you  will  be 
surprised  to  hear,  that  no  such  thing  as  whusky  is  to  be  had 
in  the  public -houses,  where  they  drink  only  a  dead  sort  of 
beer ;  and  that  a  bottle  of  true  jennyinn  London  porter  is  rarely 
to  be  seen  in  the  whole  town — all  kinds  of  piple  getting  their 
porter  in  pewter  cans,  and  a  laddie  calls  for  in  the  morning  to 
take  away  what  has  been  yoused  over  night.  But  what  I  most 
miss  is  the  want  of  creem.  The  milk  here  is  just  skimm,  and 
I  doot  not,  likewise  well  watered — as  for  the  water,  a  drink  of 
clear  wholesome  good  water  is  not  within  the  bounds  of 
London  ;  and  truly,  now  may  I  say,  that  I  have  learnt  what 
the  blessing  of  a  cup  of  cold  water  is. 

Tell  Miss  Nanny  Eydent,  that  the  day  of  the  burial  is  now 
settled,  when  we  are  going  to  Windsor  Castle  to  see  the 
precesson — and  that,  by  the  end  of  the  wick,  she  may  expect 
the  fashions  from  me,  with  all  the  particulars.  Till  then,  I 
am,  my  dear  Miss  Mally,  your  friend  and  well-wisher, 

Janet  Pringle. 

Noto  Beny. — Giv*  my  kind  compliments  to  Mrs.  Glibbans, 
and  let  her  know,  that  I  will,  after  Sunday,  give  her  an  account 
of  the  state  of  the  Gospel  in  London. 

Miss  Mally  paused  when  she  had  read  the  letter,  and  it 
was  unanimously  agreed,  that  Mrs.  Pringle  gave  a  more  full 
account  of  London  than  either  father,  son,  or  daughter. 

232 


THE  TOWN 

By  this  time  the  night  was  far  advanced,  and  Mrs. 
Glibbans  was  rising  to  go  away,  apprehensive,  as  she  observed, 
that  they  were  going  to  bring  'the  carts'  into  the  room. 
Upon  Miss  Mally,  however,  assuring  her  that  no  such  trans- 
gression was  meditated,  but  that  she  intended  to  treat  them 
with  a  bit  nice  Highland  mutton  ham,  and  eggs,  of  her  own 
laying,  that  worthy  pillar  of  the  Relief  Kirk  consented  to 
remain. 

It  was  past  eleven  o'clock  when  the  party  broke  up ;  Mr. 
Snodgrass  and  Mr  Micklewham  walked  home  together,  and 
as  they  were  crossing  the  Red  Bum  Bridge,  at  the  entrance  of 
Eglintoun  Wood,— -a  place  well  noted  from  ancient  times  for 
preternatural  appearances,  Mr.  Micklewham  declared  that  he 
thought  he  heard  something  purring  among  the  bushes  ;  upon 
which  Mr.  Snodgrass  made  a  jocose  observation,  stating,  that 
it  could  be  nothing  but  the  effect  of  Lord  North's  strong  ale 
in  his  head  ;  and  we  should  add,  by  way  of  explanation,  that 
the  Lord  North  here  spoken  of  was  Willy  Grieve,  celebrated 
in  Irvine  for  the  strength  and  flavour  of  his  brewing,  and 
that,  in  addition  to  a  plentiful  supply  of  his  best.  Miss  Mally 
had  entertained  them  with  tamariad  punch,  constituting  a 
natural  cause  adequate  to  produce  all  the  preternatural 
purring  that  terrified  the  dominie. 


\\\ 


''t 


233 


0 


CHAPTER   V 


THE    ROYAL    FUNERAL 


Tam  Glen  having,  in  consequence  of  the  exhortations  of  Mr. 
Micklewham,  and  the  earnest  entreaties  of  Mr.  Dafif,  backed 
by  the  pious  animadversions  of  the  rigidly  righteous  Mr. 
Craig,  confessed  a  fault,  and  acknowledged  an  irregular 
marriage  with  Meg  Milliken,  their  child  was  admitted  to 
church  privileges.  But  before  the  day  of  baptism,  Mr.  Daff, 
who  thought  Tam  had  given  but  sullen  symptoms  of  penitence, 
said,  to  put  him  in  better  humour  with  his  fate, — '  Noo,  Tam, 
since  ye  hae  beguiled  us  of  the  infare,  we  maun  mak  up  for't 
at  the  christening  ;  so  I'll  speak  to  Mr.  Snodgrass  to  bid  the 
Doctor's  friens  and  acquaintance  to  the  ploy,  that  we  may  get 
as  meikle  amang  us  as  will  pay  for  the  bairn's  baptismal 
frock.' 

Mr.  Craig,  who  was  present,  and 
portunity  of  testifying,  as  he  said,  his 
crying  iniquity,'  remonstrated  with  Mr. 
nature  of  the  proposal,  stigmatising 


who  r  n'^r  lost  an  op- 

'  discoi       nance  of  the 

Daff  on  the  unchristian 

it  with  good    emphasis 


'  as  a  sinful  nourishing  of  carnality  in  his  day  and  generation.' 
Mr.  Micklewham,  however,  interfered,  and  said,  '  It  was  a 
matter  of  weight  and  concernment,  and  therefore  it  behoves 
you  to  consult  Mr.  Snodgrass  on  the  fitness  of  the  thing. 
For  if  the  thing  itself  is  not  fit  and  proper,  it  cannot  expect 
his  countenance  ;  and,  on  that  account,  before  we  reckon  on 
his  compliance  with  what  Mr.  Daff  has  propounded,  we  should 
first  learn  whether  he  approves  of  it  at  all.'  Whereupon  the 
two  elders  and  the  session-clerk  adjourned  to  the  manse,  in 
which  Mr.  Snodgrass,  during  the  absence  of  the  incumbent, 
had  taken  up  his  abode. 

234 


i 


THE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 


The  heads  of  the  previous  conversalion  were  recapitulated 
by  Mr.  Micklewham,  with  as  much  brevity  as  was  ronsistent 
with  perspicuity  ;  and  the  matter  being  ihily  digested  by  Mr. 
Snod^rass,  that  orthodox  young  man  as  Mrs.  CWibbans 
denominated  him,  on  hearing  him  for  the  first  time — declared 
that  the  notion  of  a  pay-christening  was  a  benevolent  and 
kind  thought :  '  For,  is  not  the  order  to  increase  and  multiply 
one  of  the  first  commands  in  the  Scriptures  of  truth  ? '  said 
Mr.  Snodgrass,  addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Craig.  *  Surely, 
then,  when  children  are  brought  into  the  world,  a  great  law 
of  our  nature  has  been  fulfilled,  and  there  is  cause  for  rejoicing 
and  gladness  !  And  is  it  not  an  obligation  imposed  upon  all 
Christians,  to  welcome  the  stranger,  and  to  feed  the  hungry, 
and  to  clothe  the  naked  ;  and  what  greater  stranger  can  there 
be  than  a  helpless  babe  ?  Who  more  in  need  of  sustenance 
than  the  infant,  that  knows  not  the  way  even  to  its  mothei-'s 
bosom  ?  And  whom  shall  we  clothe,  if  we  do  not  the  wailing 
innocent,  that  the  hand  of  Providence  places  in  poverty  and 
nakedness  before  us,  to  try,  as  it  were,  the  depth  of  our 
Christian  principles,  and  to  awaken  the  sympathy  of  our 
humane  feelings  ? ' 

Mr.  Craig  replied,  '  It's  a'  very  true  and  sound  what  Mr. 
Snodgrass  has  observed  ;  but  Tarn  Glen's  wean  is  neither  a 
stranger,  nor  hungry,  nor  naked,  but  a  sturdy  brat,  that  has 
been  rinning  its  lane  for  mair  than  sax  weeks.'  '  Ah  ! '  said 
Mr.  Snodgrass  familiarly,  '  I  fear,  Mr.  Craig,  ye'rea  Malthusian 
in  your  heart.'  The  sanctimonious  elder  was  thundv^rstruck  at 
the  word.  Of  many  a  various  shade  and  modification  of 
sectarianism  he  had  heard,  but  the  Malthusian  heresy  was 
new  to  his  ears,  and  a  vful  to  his  conscience,  and  he  begged 
Mr.  Snodgrass  to  teli  him  in  what  it  chiefly  consisted,  pro- 
testing his  innocence  of  that,  and  of  every  erroneous  doctrine. 

Mr.  Snodgrass  happened  to  regard  the  opinions  of  Malthus 
on  Population  as  equally  contrary  to  religion  and  nature,  and 
not  at  all  founded  in  truth.  '  It  is  evident,  that  the 
reproductive  principle  in  the  earth  and  vegetables,  and  all 
things  and  animals  which  constitute  the  means  of  subsistence, 
is  much  more  vigorous  than  in  man.  It  may  be  therefore 
affirmed^  that  the  multiplication  of  the  means  of  subsistence  is 
an  effect  of  the  multiplication  of  population,  for  the  one  is 
augmented  in   quantity,  by  the  skill   and  care  of  the  other,' 

235 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

said  Mr.  Snodgrass,  seizing  with  avidity  this  'Opportunity  of 
stating  what  he  thought  on  the  subject,  althoug  his  auditors 
were  but  the  session-clerk,  and  two  elders  of  a  ci.  ntry  parish. 
We  cannot  pursue  the  train  of  his  argument,  but  we  should  do 
injustice  to  the  philosophy  of  Malthus,  if  we  suppressed  the 
observation  which  Mr.  Uaflf  made  at  the  conclusion.  'Gude 
safe's  ! '  said  the  good-natured  elder,  ♦  if  it's  true  that  we  breed 
faster  than  the  Lord  provides  for  us,  we  maun  drown  the  poor 
folks'  weans  like  kittlings.'  '  Na,  na  ! '  exclaimed  Mr.  Craig, 
♦  ye're  a'  out,  neighbour ;  I  see  now  the  utility  of  church- 
censures.'  'True  ! '  said  Mr.  Micklewham  ;  *  and  the  ordination 
of  the  stool  of  repentance,  the  horrors  of  which,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  fifteen  Lords  at  Edinburgh,  palliated  child-murder,  is 
doubtless  a  Malthusian  institution.'  But  Mr.  Snodgrass  put  an 
end  to  the  controversy,  by  fixing  a  day  for  the  christening,  and 
telling  he  would  do  his  best  to  procure  a  good  collection, 
according  to  the  benevolent  suggestion  of  Mr.  DafF.  To  this 
cause  we  are  indebted  for  the  next  series  of  the  Pringle 
correspondence;  for,  on  the  day  appointed.  Miss  Mally 
Glencairn,  Miss  Isabella  Tod,  Mrs.  Glibbans  and  her 
daughter  Becky,  with  Miss  Nanny  Eydent,  together  with  other 
friends  of  the  minister's  family,  dined  at  the  manse,  and  the 
conversation  being  chiefly  about  the  concerns  of  the  family,  the 
letters  were  produced  and  read. 


,3 


LETTER  XII 

Andrew  Pringle,  Esq.y  to  the  Rev.  Charles  Snodgrass 

Windsor,  Tastle-Inn. 

My  dear  Friend — I  have  all  my  life  been  strangely 
susceptible  of  pleasing  impressions  from  public  spectacles 
where  great  crowds  are  assembled.  This,  perhaps,  you  will 
say,  is  but  another  way  of  confessing,  that,  like  the  common 
vulgar,  I  am  fond  of  sights  and  shows.  It  may  be  so,  but  it 
is  not  from  the  pageants  that  I  derive  my  enjoyment.  A 
multitude,  in  fact,  is  to  me  as  it  were  a  strain  of  music,  which, 
with  an  irresistible  and  magical  influence,  calls  up  from  the 
ui?known  abyss  of  the  feelings  new  combinations  of  fancy, 
which,  though  vague  and  obscure,  as  those  nebulae  of  light 
that   astronomers   have   supposed    to    be    the   rudiments   of 

236 


THE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 


unformed  stars,  afterwards  become  distinct  and  brilliant 
acquisitions.  In  a  crowd,  I  am  like  the  somnambulist  in  the 
highest  degree  of  the  luminous  crisis,  when  it  is  said  a  new 
world  is  unfolded  to  his  contemplation,  wherein  all  things  have 
an  intimate  affinity  with  the  state  of  man,  and  yet  bear  no 
resemblance  to  the  objects  that  address  themselves  to  his 
corporeal  faculties.  This  delightful  experience,  as  it  may  be 
called,  I  have  enjoyed  this  evening,  to  an  exquisite  degree,  at 
the  funeral  of  the  king ;  but,  although  the  whole  succession  of 
incidents  is  indelibly  imprinted  on  my  recollection,  I  am  still 
so  much  affected  by  the  emotion  excited,  as  to  be  incapable  of 
conveying  to  you  any  intelligible  description  of  what  I  saw. 
It  was  indeed  a  scene  witnessed  through  the  medium  of  the 
feelings,  and  the  effect  partakes  of  the  nature  of  a  dream. 
I  was  within  the  walls  of  an  ancient  castle, 

*  So  old  as  if  they  had  for  ever  stood, 
So  strong  as  if  they  would  for  ever  stand,' 

and  it  was  almost  midnight.  The  towers,  like  the  vast 
spectres  of  departed  ages,  raised  their  embattled  heads  to  the 
skies,  monumental  witnesses  of  the  strength  and  antiquity  of  a 
great  monarchy.  A  prodigious  multitude  filled  the  courts  of 
that  venerable  edifice,  surrounding  on  all  sides  a  dark  embossed 
structure,  the  sarcophagus,  as  it  seemed  to  me  at  the  moment, 
of  the  heroism  of  chivalry. 

♦  A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream,'  and  I  beheld 
the  scene  suddenly  illuminated,  and  the  blaze  of  torches,  the 
glimmering  of  arms,  and  warriors  and  horses,  while  a  mosaic  of 
human  faces  covered  like  a  pavement  the  courts.  A  deep  low 
under  sound  pealed  from  a  distance  ;  in  the  same  moment, 
a  trumpet  answered  with  a  single  mournful  note  from  the 
stateliest  and  darkest  portion  of  the  fabric,  and  it  was  whispered 
in  every  ear,  *  It  is  coming.'  Then  an  awful  cadence  of 
solemn  music,  that  affected  the  heart  like  silence,  was  heard 
at  intervals,  and  a  numerous  retinue  of  grave  and  venerable 
men, 

'  The  fathers  of  their  time, 
Those  mighty  master  spirits,  that  withstood 
The  fall  of  monarchies,  and  high  upheld 
Their  country's  standard,  glorious  in  the  storm,' 

passed  slowly  before  me,  bearing  the  emblems  and  trophies  of 

237 


SS 


I 


)■ 


'I 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


a  king.  They  were  as  a  series  of  great  historical  events,  and 
I  beheld  behind  them,  following  and  followed,  an  awful  and 
indistinct  image,  like  the  vision  of  Job.  It  moved  on,  and  I 
could  not  discern  the  form  thereof,  but  there  were  honours 
and  heraldries,  and  sorrow,  and  silence,  and  I  heard  the  stir  of 
a  profound  homage  performing  within  the  breasts  of  all 
the  witnesses.  But  I  must  not  indulge  myself  farther  on  this 
subject.  I  cannot  hope  to  excite  in  you  the  emotions  with 
which  I  was  so  profoundly  affected.  In  the  visible  objects  of 
the  funeral  of  George  the  Third  there  was  but  little  magnifi- 
cence ;  all  its  sublimity  was  derived  from  the  trains  of  thought 
and  currents  of  feeling,  which  the  sight  of  so  many  illustrious 
characters,  surrounded  by  circumstances  associated  with  the 
greatness  and  antiquity  of  the  kingdom,  was  necessarily 
calculated  to  call  forth.  In  this  respect,  however,  it  was 
perhaps  the  sublimest  spectacle  ever  witnessed  in  this  island ; 
and  I  am  sure,  that  I  cannot  live  so  long  as  ever  again  to 
behold  another,  that  will  equally  interest  me  to  the  same  depth 
and  extent. — Yours,  Andrew  Pringle. 


We  should  ill  perform  the  part  of  faithful  hist(»rians,  did 
we  omit  to  record  the  sentiments  expressed  by  the  company 
on  this  occasion.  Mrs.  Glibbans,  whose  knowledge  of  the 
points  of  orthodoxy  had  not  their  equal  in  the  three  adjacent 
parishes,  roundly  declared,  that  Mr.  Andrew  Pringle's  letter 
was  nothing  but  a  peesemeal  of  clishmaclavers ;  that  there 
was  no  sense  in  it ;  and  that  it  was  just  like  the  writer,  a 
canary  idiot,  a  touch  here  and  a  touch  there,  without  anything 
in  the  shnpe  of  cordiality  or  satisfaction. 

Miss  Isabella  Tod  answered  this  objection  with  that  sweet- 
ness of  manner  and  virgin  diffidence,  which  so  well  becomes 
a  youthful  member  of  the  establishment,  controverting  the 
dogmas  of  a  stoop  of  the  Relief  persuasion,  by  saying,  that 
she  thought  Mr.  Andrew  had  shown  a  fine  sensibility.  '  What 
is  sensibility  without  judgment,'  cried  her  adversary,  'but  a 
thrashing  in  the  water,  and  a  raising  of  bells  ?  Couldna  the 
fallow,  without  a'  his  parleyvoos,  have  said,  that  such  and 
such  was  the  case,  and  that  the  Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord 
taketh  away  ? — ^but  his  clouds,  and  his  spectres,  and  his  visions 
of  Job  ! — Oh,  an  he  could  but  think  like  Job  ! — Oh,  an  he  would 
but  think  like  the  patient  man ! — and  was  obliged  to  claut 

238 


THE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 

his  flesh  with  a  bit  of  a  broken  crock,  we  mi<2fht  have  some 
hope  of  repentance  unto  life.  But  Andrew  Pringle,  he's  a 
gone  dick ;  I  never  had  comfort  or  expectation  of  the  free- 
thinker, since  I  heard  that  he  was  infected  with  the  blue  and 
yellow  calamity  of  the  Edinburgh  Review ;  in  which,  I  am 
credibly  told,  it  is  set  forth,  that  women  have  nae  souls,  but 
only  a  gut,  and  a  gaw,  and  a  gizzard,  like  a  pigeon-dove,  or  a 
raven-crow,  or  any  other  outcast  and  abominated  quadruped.' 

Here  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  interposed  her  effectual  media- 
tion, and  said,  *  It  is  very  true  that  Andrew  deals  in  the 
diplomatics  of  obscurity  ;  but  it's  well  known  that  he  has  a 
nerve  for  genius,  and  that,  in  his  own  way,  he  kens  the  loan 
from  the  crown  of  the  causeway,  as  well  as  the  duck  does 
the  midden  from  the  adle  dib.'  To  this  proverb,  which  we 
never  heard  before,  a  learned  friend,  whom  we  <  onsulted  on 
the  subject,  has  enabled  us  to  state,  that  middens  were  formerly 
of  great  magnitude,  and  oftsn  of  no  less  antiquity  in  the  west 
of  Scotland ;  in  so  much,  that  the  Trongate  of  Glasgow  owes 
all  its  spacious  grandeur  to  them.  It  being  within  the  recollec- 
tion of  persons  yet  living,  that  the  said  magnificent  street 
was  at  one  time  an  open  road,  or  highway,  leading  to  the 
Trone,  or  market -cross,  with  thatched  houses  on  each  side, 
such  as  may  still  be  seen  in  the  pure  and  immaculate  royal 
borough  of  Rutherglen  ;  and  that  before  each  house  stood  a 
luxuriant  midden,  by  ti>e  removal  of  which,  in  the  progress 
of  modern  degeneracy,  the  stately  architecture  of  Argyle  Street 
was  formed.  But  not  to  insist  at  too  great  a  length  on  such 
topics  of  antiquarian  lore,  we  shall  now  insert  Dr.  Pringle's 
account  of  the  funeral,  and  which,  patly  enough,  follows  our 
digression  concerning  the  middens  and  magnificence  of  Glasgow, 
as  it  contains  an  authentic  anecdote  of  a  manufacturer  from 
that  city,  drinking  champaign  at  the  king's  dirgie. 


LETTER  XIII 

The  Rev.  Z.  Pringlc^  D.D.^  to  Mr.  Micklcivham.^  Schoolmaster 
atui  Session-  Clerk  of  Garnock 

London. 

Dear  Sir — I  have  received  your  letter,  and  it   is  a  great 
pleasure  to  mc  to  hear  that  my  people  were  all  so  much 

239 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


I 


concerned  at  t)ur  distress  in  the  Leith  smack ;  but  what  gave 
me  the  most  contentment  was  the  repentance  of  Tam  Glen. 
I  hope,  poor  fellow,  he  will  prove  a  good  husband  ;  but  I 
have  my  doubts  ;  for  the  wife  has  really  but  a  small  share  of 
common  sense,  and  no  married  man  can  do  well  unless  his 
wife  will  let  him.  I  am,  however,  not  overly  pleased  with 
Mr.  Craig  on  the  occasion,  for  he  should  luve  considered 
frail  human  nature,  and  accepted  of  poor  Tam's  confession 
of  a  fault,  and  allowed  the  bairn  to  be  baptized  without  any 
more  ado.  I  think  honest  Mr.  Daff  has  acted  like  himself, 
and  I  trust  and  hope  there  will  be  a  great  gathering  at  the 
christening,  and,  that  my  mite  may  not  be  wanting,  you  will 
slip  in  a  guinea  note  when  the  dish  goes  round,  but  in  such 
a  manner,  that  it  may  not  be  jealouscd  from  whose  hand  it 
comes. 

Since  my  last  letter,  we  have  been  very  thrang  in  the  way 
of  seeing  the  curiosities  of  London ;  but  I  must  go  on 
regular,  and  tell  you  all,  which,  I  think,  it  is  my  duty  to  do, 
that  you  may  let  my  people  know.  First,  then,  we  have  been 
at  Windsor  Castle,  to  see  the  king  lying  in  state,  and,  after- 
wards, his  interment ;  and  sorry  im  I  to  say,  it  was  not  a 
sight  that  could  satisfy  any  godly  mind  on  such  an  occasion. 
We  went  in  a  coach  of  our  own,  by  ourselves,  and  found  the 
town  of  Windsor  like  a  cried  fair.  We  were  then  directed 
to  the  Castle  gate,  where  a  terrible  crowd  was  gathered  together ; 
and  we  had  not  been  long  in  that  crowd,  till  a  pocket-picker, 
as  I  thought,  cutted  off  the  tail  of  my  coat,  with  my  pocket- 
book  in  my  pocket,  which  I  never  missed  at  the  time.  But 
it  seems  the  coat  tail  was  found,  and  a  policeman  got  it,  and 
held  it  up  on  the  end  of  his  stick,  and  cried,  whose  pocket 
is  this  ?  showing  the  book  that  was  therein  in  his  hand.  I 
was  confounded  to  see  my  pocket-book  there,  and  could 
scarcely  believe  my  own  eyes  ;  but  Mrs.  Pringle  knew  it  at 
the  first  glance,  and  said,  'It's  my  gudeman's';  at  the  which, 
there  was  a  great  shout  of  derision  among  the  multitude,  and 
we  would  baith  have  then  been  glad  to  disown  the  pocket- 
book,  but  it  was  returned  to  us,  I  may  almost  say,  against 
our  will ;  but  the  scorners,  when  they  saw  our  confusion, 
behaved  with  great  civility  towards  us,  so  that  we  got  into 
the  Castle-yard  with  no  other  damage  than  the  loss  of  the 
flap  of  my  coat  tail. 

240 


THE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 


Being  in  the  Castle  •  yard,  we  followed  the  crowd  into 
another  gate,  and  up  a  stair,  and  saw  the  king  lying  in 
state,  which  was  a  very  dismal  sight  and  1  thought  of 
Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  when  I  saw  mc  coffm,  and  the 
mutes,  and  the  mourners  ;  and  reflecting  on  the  long  iuHrmity 
of  mind  of  the  good  old  king,  I  said  to  myself,  in  the  vvords 
of  the  book  of  Job,  '  Doth  not  their  excellency  which  is  in 
them  go  away  ?  they  die  even  without  wisdom  !' 

When  we  had  seen  the  sight,  w^  came  out  of  i  o  Castle, 
and  went  to  an  inn  to  get  a  chack  <.f  dinner;  but  there  was 
such  a  crowd,  that  no  resting-place  <  .  for  a  time  be  found 
for  us.  Gentle  and  semple  were  thei  %  all  minj^  <  il,  and  no 
rcjpoc  t  of  persons  ;  only  there  was,  at  a  table  nigh  unto  ours, 
a  fat  (Jlasgow  manufacturer,  who  ordered  a  bottle  of  champaign 
wine,  and  did  all  he  could  in  the  drinking  of  it  by  hi  self, 
to  show  that  he  was  a  man  in  well  -  doing  circumstances. 
While  he  was  talking  <iver  his  wine,  a  great  peer  of  the 
realm,  with  a  star  on  his  breast,  came  into  the  room,  and 
ordered  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water  ;  and  I  could  see,  when 
he  saw  the  Glasgow  manufacturer  drinking  champaign  wine 
on  that  occasion,  that  he  greatly  mar\elled  thereat. 

When  we  had  taken  our  dinner,  we  went  out  to  walk  and 
see  the  town  of  Windsor ;  but  there  was  such  a  mob  of 
coaches  (^oing  and  coming,  and  men  and  horses,  that  we 
left  the  streets,  and  went  to  inspect  the  king's  policy,  which 
is  of  great  compass,  but  in  a  careless  order,  though  it  costs 
a  world  of  money  to  keep  it  up.  Afterwards,  we  went  back 
to  the  inns,  to  get  tea  for  Mrs.  Pringle  and  her  daughter, 
while  Andrew  Prmgle,  my  son,  was  seeing  if  he  could  get 
tickets  to  buy,  to  let  us  into  the  inside  of  the  Castle,  to  sec 
the  burial — but  he  came  bark  without  luck,  and  I  went  out 
myself,  being  more  experienced  in  the  world,  and  I  saw  a 
gentleman's  servant  with  a  ticket  in  his  hand,  and  I  asked 
him  to  sell  it  to  me,  which  the  man  did  with  thankfulness, 
for  five  shillings,  although  the  price  was  said  to  be  golden 
guineas.  But  as  this  ticket  admitted  only  one  person,  it  was 
hard  to  say  what  should  be  done  with  it  when  I  got  back  to 
my  family.  However,  as  by  this  time  we  were  all  very  much 
fatigued,  I  gave  it  to  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son,  and  Mrs. 
Pringle,  and  her  daughter  Rachel,  agreed  to  bide  with  me  in 
the  inns. 


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THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

Andrew  Pringle,  my  son,  having  got  the  ticket,  left  us 
sitting,  when  shortly  after  in  came  a  nobleman,  high  in  the 
cabinet,  as  I  think  he  must  have  been,  and  he  having  politely 
asked  leave  to  take  his  tea  at  our  table,  because  of  the  great 
throng  in  the  house,  we  fell  into  a  conversation  together,  and 
he,  understanding  thereby  that  I  was  a  minister  of  the  Church 
of  Scotland,  said  he  thought  he  could  help  us  into  a  place  to 
see  the  funeral  ;  so,  after  he  had  drank  his  tea,  he  tonk  us 
with  him,  and  got  us  into  the  Castle-yard,  v.  here  we  had  an 
excellent  place,  near  to  the  Glasgow  manufacturer  that  drank 
the  champaign.  The  drink  by  this  time,  however,  had  got 
into  that  poor  man's  head,  and  he  talked  so  loud,  and  so  little 
to  the  purpose,  that  the  soldiers  who  were  guarding  were 
obliged  to  make  him  hold  his  peace,  at  which  he  was  not  a 
little  nettled,  and  told  the  soldiers  that  he  had  himself  been  a 
soldier,  and  served  the  king  v.'ithout  pay,  having  been  a 
volunteer  officer.  But  this  had  no  more  effect  than  to  make 
the  soldiers  laugh  at  him,  which  was  not  a  decent  thing  at  the 
interment  of  their  master,  our  most  gracious  Sovereign  that 
was. 

However,  in  this  situation  we  saw  all ;  and  I  can  assure 
you  it  was  a  very  edifying  sight ;  and  the  people  demeaned 
themselves  with  so  much  propriety,  that  there  was  no  need  for 
any  guards  at  all ;  indeed,  for  that  matter,  of  the  two,  the 
guards,  who  had  eaten  the  king's  breau,  were  the  only  ones 
there,  saving  and  excepting  the  Glasgow  manufacturer,  that 
manifested  an  irreverent  spirit  towards  the  royal  obsequies. 
But  they  are  men  familiar  with  the  king  of  terrors  on  the  field 
of  battle,  and  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  their  hearts  would 
be  daunted  like  those  of  others  by  a  doing  of  a  civil  character. 

When  all  was  over,  we  returned  to  the  inns,  to  get  our 
v:haise,  to  go  back  to  London  that  night,  for  beds  were  not  to 
be  had  for  love  or  money  at  Windsor,  and  we  reached  our 
temporary  home  in  Norfolk  Street  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  well  satisfied  with  what  we  had  seen, — but  all  the 
meantime  I  had  forgotten  the  loss  of  the  flap  of  my  coat,  which 
caused  no  little  sport  when  I  came  to  recollect  what  a  pookit 
like  body  I  must  have  been,  walking  about  in  the  king's 
policy  like  a  peacock  without  my  tail.  But  I  must  conclude, 
for  Mrs.  Pringle  has  a  letter  to  put  in  the  frank  for  Miss 
Nanny  Eydent,  which  you  will  send  to  her  by  one  of  your 

242 


THE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 

scholars,  as  it  contains  information  that  may  be  serviceable 
to  Miss  Nanny  in  her  business,  both  as  a  mantua-maker  and  a 
superintendent  of  the  genteeler  sort  of  burials  at  Irvine  and 
our  vicinity.     So  that  this  is  all  from  your  friend  and  pastor, 

Zachariah  Pringle. 


'  I  think,'  said  Miss  Isabella  Tod,  as  Mr.  Micklewham 
finished  the  reading  of  the  Doctor's  epistle,  '  that  my  friend 
Rachel  might  have  given  me  some  account  of  the  ceremony  : 
but  Captain  Sabre  seems  to  have  been  a  much  more  interest- 
ing object  to  her  than  the  pride  and  pomp  to  her  brother,  or 
even  the  Glasgow  manufacturer  to  her  father.'  In  saying 
these  words,  the  young  lady  took  the  following  letter  from  her 
pocket,  and  was  on  the  point  of  beginning  to  read  it,  when 
Miss  Becky  Glibbans  exclaimed,  '  I  had  aye  my  fears  that 
Rachel  was  but  light-headed,  and  I'll  no  be  surprised  to  hear 
more  about  her  and  the  dragoon  or  a's  done.'  Mr.  Snodgrass 
looked  at  Becky,  as  if  he  had  been  afflicted  at  the  moment 
with  unpleasant  ideas ;  and  perhaps  he  would  have  rebuked 
the  spitefulness  of  her  insinuations,  had  not  her  mother  sharply 
snubbed  the  uncongenial  maiden,  in  terms  at  least  as  pungent 
as  aay  which  the  reverend  gentleman  would  have  employed. 
'  I'm  sure,'  replied  Miss  Becky,  pertly,  *  I  meant  no  ill ;  but  if 
Rachel  Pringle  can  write  about  nothing  but  this  Captain 
Sabre,  she  might  as  well  let  it  alone,  and  her  letter  canna  be 
worth  the  hearing.'  'Upon  that,'  said  the  clergyman,  *we 
can  form  a  judgment  when  we  have  heard  it,  and  I  beg  that 
Miss  Isabella  may  proceed,' — which  she  did  accordingly. 


<  ; 


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LETTER  XIV 

Mzss  Rachel  Pringle  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod 

London. 

My  dear  Bell — I  take  up  my  pen  with  a  feeling  of  dis- 
appointment such  as  I  never  felt  before.  Yesterday  was  the  day 
appointed  for  the  funeral  of  the  good  old  king,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  we  should  go  to  Windsor,  to  pour  the  tribute  of 
our  tears  upon  the  royal  hearse.  Captain  Sabre  promised  to 
go  with  us,  as  he  is  well  acquainted  with  the  town,  and  the 
interesting  objects  around  the  Castle,  so  dear  to  chivalry,  and 

243 


m 


I'' 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


embalmed  by  the  genius  of  Shakespeare  and  many  a  minor 
bard,  and  I  promised  myself  a  day  of  unclouded  felicity — but 
the  captain  was  ordered  to  be  on  duty, — and  the  crowd  wa'-. 
so  ruvle  and  riotous,  that  I  had  no  enjoyment  whatever ;  but, 
pining  with  chagrin  at  the  little  respect  paid  by  the  rabble  to 
the  virtues  of  the  departed  monarch,  I  would  fainly  have 
retired  into  some  solemn  and  sequestered  grove,  and 
breathed  my  sorrows  to  the  listening  waste.  Nor  was  the 
loss  of  the  captain,  to  explain  and  illuminate  the  different 
baronial  circumstances  around  the  Castle,  the  only  thing  I  had 
to  '•egret  in  this  ever-memorable  excursion — my  tender  and 
affectionate  mother  was  so  desirous  to  see  everything  in  the 
most  particular  manner,  in  order  that  she  might  give  an 
account  of  the  funeral  to  Nanny  Eydent,  that  she  had  no 
mercy  either  upon  me  or  my  father,  but  obliged  us  to  go  with 
her  to  the  most  difficult  and  inaccessible  places.  How  vain 
was  all  this  meritorious  assiduity !  for  of  what  avail  can  the 
ceremonies  of  a  royal  funeral  be  to  Miss  Nanny,  at  Irvine, 
where  kings  never  die,  and  where,  if  they  did,  it  is  not  at  all 
probable  that  Miss  Nanny  would  be  employed  to  direct  their 
solemn  obsequies  ?  As  for  my  brother,  he  was  so  entranced 
with  his  own  enthusiasm,  that  he  paid  but  little  attention  to 
us,  which  made  me  the  more  sensible  of  the  want  we  suffered 
from  the  absence  of  Captain  Sabre.  In  a  word,  my  dear  Bell, 
never  did  I  pass  a  more  unsatisfactory  day,  and  I  wish  it 
blotted  for  ever  from  my  remembrance.  Let  it  therefore  be 
consigned  to  the  abysses  of  oblivion,  while  I  recall  the  more 
pleasing  incidents  that  have  happened  since  I  wrote  you  last. 

On  Sunday,  according  to  invitation,  as  I  told  you,  we  dined 
with  the  Argents — and  were  entertained  by  them  in  a  style  at 
once  most  splendid,  and  on  the  most  easy  footing.  I  shall  nc^ 
attempt  to  describe  the  consumable  materials  of  the  table, 
but  call  your  attention,  my  dear  friend,  to  the  intellectual 
portion  of  the  entertainment,  a  subject  much  more  congenial 
to  your  delicate  and  refined  character 

Mrs.  Argent  is  a  lady  of  considerable  p»ersonal  magnitude, 
of  an  open  and  affable  disposition.  In  this  respect,  indeed, 
she  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  her  nephew.  Captain  Sabre, 
with  whose  relationship  io  her  we  were  unacquainted  before 
that  day.  She  received  ns  as  friends  in  whom  she  felt  a 
peculiar  interest ;  for  when  she  heard  that  my  mother  had  got 

244 


THE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 


her  dress  and  mine  from  Cranbury  Alley,  she  expressed  the 
greatest  astonishment,  and  told  us,  that  it  was  not  at  all  a 
place  where  persons  of  fashion  could  expect  to  be  properly 
served.  Nor  can  I  disguise  the  fact,  that  the  flounced  and 
gorgeous  garniture  of  our  dresses  was  in  shocking  contrast  to 
the  amiable  simplicity  of  hers  and  the  fair  Arabella,  her 
daughter,  a  charming  girl,  who,  notwithstanding  the  fashion- 
able splendour  in  which  she  has  been  educated,  displays  a 
delightful  sprightliness  of  manner,  that,  I  have  some  notion, 
has  not  been  altogether  lost  on  the  heart  of  my  brother. 

When  we  returned  upstairs  to  the  drawing-room,  after 
dinner.  Miss  Arabella  took  her  harp,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
favouring  us  with  a  Mozart ;  but  her  mother,  recollecting  that 
we  were  Presbyterians,  thought  it  might  not  be  agreeable,  and 
she  desistt  d,  which  I  was  sinful  enough  to  regret ;  but  my 
mother  was  so  evidently  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  playing  on  the 
harp  on  a  Sunday  night,  that  I  suppressed  my  own  wishes,  in 
filial  veneration  for  those  of  that  respected  parent.  Indeed, 
fortunate  it  was  that  the  music  was  not  performed ;  for,  when 
we  returned  home,  my  father  remarked  with  great  solemnity, 
that  such  a  way  jf  passing  the  Lord's  night  as  we  had  passed 
it,  would  have  been  a  great  sin  m  Scotland. 

Captain  Sabre,  who  called  on  us  next  morning,  was  so  de- 
lighted when  he  understood  that  we  were  acquainted  with  his 
aunt,  that  he  lamented  he  had  not  happened  to  know  it  before, 
as  he  would,  in  that  case,  have  met  us  there.  He  is  indeed 
very  attentive,  but  I  assure  you  that  I  feel  no  particular 
interest  about  him  ;  for  although  he  is  certainly  a  very  hand- 
some young  man,  he  is  not  such  a  genius  as  my  brother,  and 
has  no  literary  partialities.  But  literary  accomplishments  are, 
you  know,  foreign  to  the  military  profession,  and  if  the  captain 
has  not  distinguished  himself  by  cutting  up  authors  in  the 
reviews,  he  has  acquired  an  honourable  medal,  by  overcoming 
the  enemies  of  the  civilised  world  at  Waterloo. 

To-night  the  playhouses  open  again,  and  we  are  going  to 
the  Oratorio,  and  the  captain  goes  with  us,  a  circumstance 
which  I  am  the  more  pleased  at,  as  we  are  strangers,  and  he 
will  tell  us  the  names  of  the  performers.  My  father  made  some 
scruple  of  consenting  to  be  of  the  party ;  but  when  he  heard 
that  an  Oratorio  was  a  concert  of  sacred  music,  he  thought  it 
would  be  only  a  sinless  deviation  if  he  did,  so  he  goes  likewise. 

245 


Mi 


!i 


'  Miss  Arabella  took  Jier  harp.' 


TiiE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 

The  captain,  ther^'fore,  takes  an  early  dinner  with  uj  at  five 
o'clock.  Alas  !  to  what  changes  am  I  doomed, — that  was  the 
tea  hour  at  the  manse  of  Garnock.  Oh,  when  shall  I  revisit  the 
primitive  simplicities  of  my  native  scenes  again  !  But  neither 
time  nor  distance,  my  dear  Bell,  can  change  the  affection  with 
which  I  subscribe  myself,  ever  affectionately,  yours, 

Rachel  Pringle. 


At  the  conclusion  of  this  letter,  the  countenance  of  Mrs. 
Glibbans  .vas  evidently  so  darkened,  that  it  daunted  the  com- 
pany, like  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  when  all  nature  is  saddened. 
*  What  think  you,  Mr.  Snodgrass,'  said  that  spirit-stricken  lady, 
— '  what  think  you  of  this  dining  on  the  Lord's  day, — this 
playing  on  the  harp  ;  the  carnal  Mozarting  of  that  ungodly 
family,  with  whom  the  corrupt  human  nature  of  our  friends 
has  been  chambering  ? '  Mr.  Snodgrass  was  at  some  loss  for 
an  answer,  and  hesitated,  but  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  relieved 
him  from  his  embarrassment,  by  remarking,  that  '  the  harp 
was  a  holy  instrument,'  which  somewhat  troubled  the  settled 
orthodoxy  of  Mrs.  Glibbans's  visage.  '  Had  it  been  an  organ,' 
said  Mr.  Snodgrass,  dryly,  'there  might  have  been,  perhaps, 
more  reason  to  doubt ;  but,  as  Miss  Mally  justly  remarks,  the 
harp  has  been  used  from  the  days  of  King  David  in  the 
performances  of  sacred  music,  together  with  the  psalter,  the 
timbrel,  the  sackbut,  and  the  cymbal.'  The  wrath  of  the 
polemical  Deborah  of  the  Relief-Kirk  was  somewhat  appeased 
by  this  explanation,  and  she  inquired  in  a  more  diffident  tone, 
whether  a  Mozart  was  not  a  metrical  paraphrase  of  the  song 
of  Moses  after  the  overthrow  of  the  Egyptians  in  the  Red  Sea  ; 
'  in  which  case,  I  must  own,'  she  observed,  '  that  the  sin  and 
guilt  of  the  thing  is  less  grievous  in  the  sight  of  KiM  before 
whom  all  the  actions  of  men  are  abominations.'  Miss  Isabella 
Tod,  availing  herself  of  this  break  in  the  conversation,  turned 
round  to  Miss  Nanny  Eydent,  and  begged  that  she  would  read 
her  letter  from  Mrs.  Pringle.  We  should  do  injustice,  how- 
ever, to  honest  worth  and  patient  nidustry,  were  we,  in  thus 
introducing  Miss  Nanny  to  our  readers,  not  to  give  them  some 
account  of  her  lowly  and  virtuous  character. 

Miss  Nanny  was  the  eldest  of  three  sisters,  the  daughters 
of  a  shipmaster,  who  was  lost  at  sea  when  they  were  very 
young ;  and   his  all   having   perished   with   him,   they   were 

247 


V 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


indeed,  as  their  mother  said,  the  children  of  Poverty  and 
Sorrow.  By  the  help  of  a  little  credit,  the  widow  contrived, 
in  a  small  shop,  to  eke  out  her  days  till  Nanny  was  able  to 
assist  her.  It  was  the  intention  of  the  poor  woman  to  take 
up  a  girl's  school  for  reading  and  knitting,  and  Nanny  was 
destined  to  instruct  the  pupils  in  that  higher  branch  of  accom- 
plishment— the  different  stitches  of  the  sampler.  But  about 
the  time  that  Nanny  was  advancing  to  the  requisite  degree  of 
perfection  in  chain-steek  and  pie-holes — indeed  had  made 
some  progress  in  the  Lord's  prayer  between  two  yew  trees— 
tambouiing  was  introduced  at  Irvine,  and  Nanny  was  sent  to 
acquire  a  competent  knowledge  of  that  classic  art,  honoured 
by  the  fair  hands  of  the  beautiful  Helen  and  the  chaste  and 
domestic  Andromache.  In  this  she  instructed  her  sisters ; 
and  such  was  the  fruit  of  their  application  and  constant  in- 
dustry, that  her  mother  abandoned  the  design  of  keeping 
school,  and  continued  to  ply  her  little  huxtry  in  more  easy 
circumstances.  The  fluctuations  of  trade  in  time  taught  them 
that  it  would  not  be  wise  to  trust  to  the  loom,  and  accordingly 
Nanny  was  at  some  pains  to  learn  mantua-making ;  and  it  was 
fortunate  that  she  did  so — for  the  tambouring  gradually  went 
out  of  fashion,  and  the  flowering  which  followed  suited  less  the 
infirm  constitution  of  poor  Nanny.  The  making  of  gowns  for 
ordinary  occasions  led  to  the  making  of  mournings,  and  the 
making  of  mournings  naturally  often  caused  Nanny  to  be  called 
in  at  deaths,  which,  in  process  of  time,  promoted  her  to  have 
the  management  of  burials ;  and  in  this  line  of  business  she 
has  now  a  large  proportion  of  the  genteelest  in  Irvine  and  its 
vicinity ;  and  in  all  her  various  engagements  her  behaviour 
has  been  as  blameless  and  obliging  as  her  assiduity  has  been 
uniform ;  insomuch,  that  the  numerous  ladies  to  whom  she 
is  known  take  a  particular  pleasure  in  supplying  her  with  the 
newest  patterns,  and  earliest  information,  respecting  the 
varieties  and  changes  of  fashions ;  and  to  the  influence  of  the 
same  good  feelings  in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Pringle,  Nanny  was 
indebted  for  the  following  letter.  How  far  the  information 
which  it  contains  may  be  deemed  exactly  suitable  to  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  Miss  Nanny's  Ic*:  is  cast,  our  readers 
may  judge  for  themselves ;  but  we  are  happy  to  state,  that  it 
has  proved  of  no  small  advantage  to  her  :  for  since  it  has  been 
known  that  she  had  received  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account, 

248 


THE  .<OYAL  FUNERAL 

of  all  manner  of  London  fashions,  from  so  managing  and 
notable  a  woman  as  the  minister's  wife  of  Garnock,  her  con- 
sideration has  been  so  augmented  in  the  opinion  of  the 
neighbouring  gentlewomen,  that  she  is  not  only  consulted  as 
to  funerals,  but  is  often  called  in  to  assist  in  the  decoration 
and  arrangement  of  wedding-dinners,  and  other  occasions  of 
sumptuous  banqueting ;  by  which  she  is  enabled,  during  the 
suspension  of  the  flowering  trade,  to  ear  .  a  lowly  but  a 
respected  livelihood. 


LETTER  XV 

Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Nanny  Eydent^  Mantua-maker^ 
Seagate  Head,  Irvine 

London. 

Dear  Miss  Nanny — Miss  Mally  Gl.^ncaim  would  tell  you 
all  how  it  happent  that  I  was  disabled,  by  our  misfortunes  in 
the  ship,  from  riting  to  you  konserning  the  London  fashons  as 
I  promist ;  for  I  wantit  to  be  partikylor,  and  to  say  nothing 
but  what  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes,  tha*  it  might  be  servisable 
to  you  in  your  bizness — so  now  I  will  begin  with  the  old 
king's  burial,  as  you  have  sometimes  okashon  to  lend  a  helping 
hand  in  that  way  at  Irvine,  and  nothing  could  be  more  genteeler 
of  the  kind  than  a  royal  obsakew  for  a  patron ;  but  no  living 
sole  can  give  a  distink  account  of  this  matter,  for  you  know 
the  old  king  was  the  father  of  his  piple,  and  the  croud  was  so 
great.  Howsomever  we  got  into  our  oun  hired  shaze  at  day- 
light ;  and  when  we  were  let  out  at  the  castel  yett  of  Windsor, 
we  went  into  the  mob,  and  by  and  by  we  got  within  the  castel 
walls,  when  great  was  the  lamentation  for  the  purdition  of 
shawls  and  shoos,  and  the  Doctor's  coat  pouch  was  clippit  off 
by  a  pocket-picker.  We  then  ran  to  a  wicket-gate,  and  up  an 
old  timber-stair  with  a  rope  ravel,  and  then  v/e  got  to  a  great 
pentit  chamber  called  King  George's  Hall ;  After  that  we 
were  allowt  to  go  into  another  room  full  of  guns  and  guards, 
that  told  us  all  to  be  silent :  so  then  we  all  went  like  sawlies, 
holding  our  tongues  in  an  awful  manner,  into  a  dysmal  room 
hung  with  black  cloth,  and  lighted  with  dum  wax-candles  in 
silver  skonses,  and  men  in  a  row  all  in  mulancholic  posters. 
At  length  and  at  last  we  came  to  the  coffin  ;  but  although  I 

249 


m 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


was  as  partikylar  as  possoble,  I  could  see  nothing  that  I  would 
recommend.  As  for  the  interment,  there  was  nothing  but 
even-down  wastrie — v/ax-candles  blowing  away  in  the  wind, 
and  flunkies  as  fou  as  pipers,  and  an  unreverent  mob  that 
scarsely  could  demean  themselves  with  decency  as  the  body 
was  going  by ;  only  the  Duke  of  York,  who  carrit  the  head, 
had  on  no  hat,  which  I  think  was  the  newest  identical  thing 
in  the  affair :  but  really  there  was  nothing  that  could  be 
recommended.  Howsomever  I  understood  that  there  was  no 
draigie,  which  was  a  saving  ;  for  the  bread  and  wine  for  such 
a  multitude  would  have  been  a  destruction  to  a  lord's  living : 
and  this  is  the  only  point  that  the  fashon  set  in  the  king's 
feunoral  may  be  follot  in  Irvine. 

Since  the  burial,  we  have  been  to  see  the  play,  where  the 
leddies  were  all  in  deep  muming ;  but  excepting  that  some 
had  black  gum-floors  on  their  heads,  I  saw  leetil  for  admiration 
— only  that  bugles,  I  can  ashure  you,  are  not  worn  at  all  this 
season ;  and  surely  this  muming  must  be  a  vast  detrimint  to 
bizness — for  where  there  is  no  verietie,  there  can  be  but  leetil 
to  do  in  your  line.  But  one  thing  I  should  not  forget,  and 
that  is,  that  in  the  vera  best  houses,  after  tea  and  coffee  after 
dinner,  a  cordial  dram  is  handed  about ;  but  likewise  I  could 
observe,  that  the  fruit  is  not  set  on  with  the  cheese,  as  in  our 
part  of  the  country,  but  comes,  after  the  cloth  is  drawn,  with 
the  wine ;  and  no  such  a  thing  as  a  punch-bowl  is  to  be  heard 
of  within  the  four  walls  of  London.  Howsomever,  what  I 
principally  notised  was,  that  the  tea  and  coffee  is  not  made  by 
the  lady  of  the  house,  but  out  of  the  room,  and  brought  in 
without  sugar  or  milk,  on  servors,  every  one  helping  himself, 
and  only  plain  flimsy  loaf  and  butter  is  served — no  such  thing 
as  shortbread,  seed-cake,  bun,  marmlet,  or  jeelly  to  be  seen, 
which  is  an  okonomical  plan,  and  well  worthy  of  adaptation  in 
ginteel  families  with  narrow  incomes,  in  Irvine  or  elsewhere. 

But  when  I  tell  you  what  I  am  now  going  to  say,  you  will 
not  be  surprict  at  the  great  wealth  in  London.  I  paid  for  a 
bumbeseen  gown,  not  a  bit  better  than  the  one  that  was  made 
by  you  that  the  sore  calamity  befell,  and  no  uo  fine  neither, 
more  than  three  times  the  price ;  so  you  see.  Miss  Nanny,  if 
you  were  going  to  pouse  your  fortune,  you  could  not  do  better 
than  pack  up  your  ends  and  your  awls  and  come  to  London. 
But  ye're  far  better  at  home — for  this  is  not  a  town  for  any 

250 


THE  ROYAL  FUNERAL 

creditable  young  woman  like  you,  to  live  in  by  herself,  and  I 
am  wearying  to  be  back,  though  it's  hard  to  say  when  the 
Doctor  will  get  his  counts  settlet.  I  wish  you,  howsornever,  to 
mind  the  patches  for  the  bed-cover  that  I  was  going  to  patch, 
for  a  licht  afternoon  seam,  as  the  murning  for  the  king  will  no 
be  so  general  with  you,  and  the  spring  fashons  will  be  coming 
on  to  help  my  gathering — so  no  more  at  present  from  your 
friend  and  well-wisher,  Janet  Pringle. 


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251 


I 


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II 


CHATTER    VI 


PHILOSOPHY   AND    RELIGION 


On  Sunday  morning,  before  going  to  church,  Mr.  Micklcwham 
called  at  the  manse,  und  said  that  he  wished  particularly  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Snodgrass.  Upon  being  admitted,  he  found  the 
young  helper  engaged  at  breakfast,  with  a  book  lying  on  his 
table,  very  like  a  volume  of  a  new  novel  called  Ivanhoc^  in  its 
appearance,  but  of  course  it  must  have  been  sermons  done  up 
in  that  manner  to  attract  fashionable  readers.  As  soon, 
however,  as  Mr.  Snodgrass  saw  his  visitor,  he  hastily  removed 
the  book,  and  put  it  into  the  table-drawer. 

The  precentor  having  taken  a  seat  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fire,  began  somewhat  diffidently  to  mention,  that  he  had 
received  a  letter  from  the  Doctor,  that  made  him  at  a  loss 
whether  or  not  he  ought  to  read  it  to  the  elders,  as  usual, 
after  worship,  and  therefore  was  desirous  of  consulting  Mr. 
Snodgrass  on  the  subject,  for  it  recorded,  among  other  things, 
that  the  Doctor  had  been  at  the  playhouse,  and  Mr.  Micklc- 
wham was  quite  sure  that  Mr.  Craig  would  be  neither  to  bind 
nor  to  hold  when  he  heard  that,  although  the  transgression 
was  certainly  mollified  by  the  nature  of  the  performance.  As 
the  clergyman,  however,  could  offer  no  opinion  until  he  saw 
the  letter,  the  precentor  took  it  out  of  his  pocket,  and  Mr. 
Snodgrass  found  the  contents  as  follows  : — 


252 


am 

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his 

its 

b  up 


of 


loss 


Mr. 


b^^J 


ind 

ion 

As 

jaw 


'  Mr.  Snodgrass  hastily  rrmcrved  the  book* 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


LETTER  XVI 

The  Rev.  Z.  Pringle,  D.D.,  to  Mr.  Micklewhavt^  Schoolmaster 
and  Session-Clerk^  Gar  nock 

London. 

Dear  Sir — You  will  recollect  that,  about  twenty  years  ago, 
there  was  a  great  sound  throughout  all  the  West  that  a 
playhouse  in  Glasgow  had  been  converted  into  a  tabernacle  of 
religion.  I  remember  it  was  glad  tidings  to  our  ears  in  the 
parish  of  Garnock  ;  and  that  Mr.  Craig,  who  had  just  been 
ta'en  on  for  an  elder  that  fall,  was  for  having  a  t^'^nksgiving- 
day  on  the  account  thereof,  holding  it  to  be  a  signal  manifesta- 
tion of  a  new  birth  in  the  of-old-godly  town  of  Glasgow,  which 
had  become  slack  in  the  way  of  well-doing,  and  the  church 
tnerein  lukewarm,  like  that  of  Laodicea.  It  was  then  said,  as 
I  well  remember,  that  when  the  Tabernacle  was  opened,  there 
had  not  been  seen,  since  the  Kaimslang  wark,  such  a  con- 
gregation as  was  there  assembled,  which  was  a  great  proof 
that  it's  the  matter  handled,  and  not  the  place,  that  maketh 
pure  ;  so  that  when  you  and  the  elders  hear  that  I  have  been 
at  the  theatre  of  Urury  Lane,  in  London,  you  must  not  think 
that  I  was  the-e  to  see  a  carnal  stage  play,  whether  tragical  or 
comical,  or  that  I  would  so  far  demean  myself  and  my  cloth, 
as  to  be  a  witness  to  the  chambering  and  wantonness  of 
ne'er-du-weel  play-actors.  No,  Mr.  Micklewham,  what  I  went 
to  see  was  an  Oratorio,  a  most  edifying  exercise  of  psalmody 
and  prayer,  under  the  management  of  a  pious  gentleman,  of 
the  name  of  Sir  George  Smart,  who  is,  as  I  am  informed,  at 
the  greatest  pains  to  instruct  the  exhibitioner ;,  they  being,  for 
the  most  part,  before  they  get  into  his  hands,  poor  uncultivated 
creatures,  from  Italy,  France,  and  Germany,  and  other 
atheistiral  and  popish  countries. 

They  first  sung  a  hymn  together  very-  decently,  and  really 
with  as  much  civilised  harmony  as  could  be  expected  from 
novices ;  indeed  so  well,  that  I  thought  them  almost  as 
melodious  as  your  own  singing  class  of  the  trades  lads  from 
Kilwinning.  Then  there  was  one  Mr.  Braham,  a  Jewish 
proselyte,  that  was  set  forth  to  show  us  a  specimen  of  his 
proficiency.     In    the    praying    part,    what    he    said    was   no 

254 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION 


\er 


objectionable  as  to  tiie  matter ;  but  he  drawled  in  his  manner 
to  such  a  pitch,  that  I  thought  he  would  have  broken  out  into 
an  even-down  song,  as  I  sometimes  think  of  yourself  when  you 
spin  out  the  last  word  in  reading  out  the  line  in  a  warm 
summer  afternoon.  In  the  hymn  by  himself,  he  did  better ; 
he  was,  however,  sometimes  like  to  lose  the  tune,  but  the 
people  gave  him  great  encouragement  when  he  got  back  again. 
Upon  the  whoh,  I  had  no  notion  that  there  was  any  such 
Christianity  in  practice  amoag  the  Londoners,  and  I  am 
happy  to  tell  you,  that  the  house  was  very  well  filled,  and  the 
congregation   wonderful  attentive.     No  doubt   that   excellent 

man,    Mr.    W ,   has   a   hand   in    these   public  strainings 

after  grace,  but  he  was  nov  there  that  night ;  for  I  have  seen 
him  ;  and  surely  at  the  sight  I  could  not  but  say  to  myself, 
that  it's  beyond  the  compass  of  the  understanding  of  man  to 
see  what  great  things  Providence  worketh  with  small  means, 

for  Mr.  W is  a  small    creature.       When  I    beheld    his 

diminutive  stature,  and  thought  of  what  he  had  achieved  tor 
the  poor  negroes  and  others  in  the  house  of  bondage,  I  said 
to  myself,  that  here  the  hand  of  Wisdom  is  visible,  for  the 
load  of  perishable  mortality  is  laid  lightly  on  his  spirit,  by 
which  it  is  enabled  to  clap  its  wings  and  crow  so  crously  c 
the  dunghill  top  of  this  world ;  yea  even  in  the  House  of 
Parliament. 

I  was  taken  last  Thursday  morning  to  breakfast  with  him 
in  his  house  at  Kensington,  by  an  East  India  man,  who  is 
likewise  surely  a  great  saint.  It  was  a  heart-healing  meeting 
of  many  of  the  godly,  which  he  holds  weekly  in  the  season  ; 
and  we  had  such  a  warsle  of  the  spirit  among  us  that 
the  like  cannot  be  told.  I  was  called  upon  to  pray,  and  a 
worthy  gentleman  said,  when  I  was  done,  that  he  never  had 
met  with  more  apostolic  simplicity — indeed,  I  could  see  with 
the  tail  of  my  eye,  while  I  was  praying,  that  the  chief  saint 
himself  was  listening  with  a  curious  pleasant  satisfaction. 

As  for  our  doings  here  anent  the  legacy,  things  are  going 
forward  in  the  regular  manner ;  but  the  expense  is  terrible, 
and  I  have  been  obliged  to  take  up  money  on  account ;  but, 
as  it  was  freely  given  by  the  agents,  I  am.  in  hopes  all  will 
end  well ;  for,  considerii>g  that  we  are  but  strangers  to  them, 
they  would  not  have  assisted  us  in  this  matter  had  they  not 
been  sure  of  the  means  of  payment  in  their  own  hands. 

255 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


The  people  of  London  are  surprising  kind  to  us ;  we  need 
not,  if  we  thought  proper  ourselves,  eat  a  dinner  in  our  own 
lodgings ;  but  it  would  ill  become  me,  at  my  time  of  life,  and 
with  the  character  for  sobriety  that  I  have  maintained,  to 
show  an  example  in  my  latter  days  of  riotous  living  ;  therefore, 
Mrs.  Pringle,  and  her  daughter,  and  me,  have  made  a  point  of 
going  nowhere  three  times  in  the  week ;  but  as  for  Andrew 
Pringle,  my  son,  he  has  forgathered  with  some  acquaintance, 
and  I  fancy  we  will  be  obliged  to  let  him  take  the  length  of 
his  tether  for  a  while.  But  not  altogether  without  a  curb 
neither,  for  the  agent's  son,  young  Mr.  Argent,  had  almost 
persuaded  him  to  become  a  member  of  Parliament,  which  he 
said  he  could  get  him  made,  for  more  than  a  thousand  pounds 
less  than  the  common  price — the  state  of  the  new  king's 
health  having  lowered  the  commodity  of  seats.  But  this  I 
would  by  no  means  hear  of;  he  is  not  yet  come  to  years  of 
discretion  enough  to  sit  in  council ;  and,  moreover,  he  has  not 
been  tried ;  and  no  man,  till  he  has  out  of  doors  shown 
something  of  what  he  is,  should  be  entitled  to  power  and 
honour  within.  Mrs.  Pringle,  however,  thought  he  might  do 
as  well  as  young  Dunure ;  but  Andrew  Pringle,  my  son,  has 

not  the  solidity  of  head  that  Mr.  K dy  has,  and  is  over 

free  and  outspoken,  and  cannot  take  such  pains  to  make  his 
little  go  a  great  way,  like  that  well-behaved  young  gentleman. 
But  you  will  be  grieved  to  hear  that  Mr.  K dy  is  in  op- 
position to  the  go  -emment  ;  and  truly  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
understand  how  a  man  of  Whig  principles  can  be  an  adversary 
to  the  House  of  Hanover.  But  I  never  meddled  much  in 
politick  affairs,  except  at  this  time,  when  I  prohibited  Andrew 
Pringle,  my  son,  from  offering  to  be  a  member  of  Parliament, 
notwithstanding  the  great  bargain  that  he  would  have  had  of 
the  place. 

And  since  we  are  on  public  concerns,  I  should  tell  you, 
that  I  was  minded  to  send  you  a  newspaper  at  the  second- 
hand, every  day  when  we  were  done  with  it.  But  when  we 
came  to  inquire,  *ve  found  that  we  could  get  the  newspaper 
for  a  shilling  a  week  every  morning  but  Sunday,  to  our 
breakfast,  which  was  so  much  cheaper  than  buying  a  whole 
paper,  that  Mrs.  Pringle  thought  it  would  be  a  great  extra- 
vagance ;  and,  indeed,  when  I  came  to  think  of  the  loss  of 
time  a  newspaper  every    lay  would  occasion  to  my  people,  I 

256 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION 

considered  it  wjuld  be  very  wrong  of  me  to  send  you  any  at 
all.  For  I  do  think  that  honest  folks  in  a  far-off  country 
parish  should  not  make  or  meddle  with  the  things  that  pertain 
to  government, — the  more  especially,  as  it  is  well  known,  that 
there  is  as  much  falsehood  as  truth  in  newspapers,  and  they 
have  not  the  means  of  testing  their  statements.  Not,  however, 
that  I  am  an  advocate  for  passive  obedience  ;  God  forbid. 
On  the  contiary,  if  ever  the  time  should  come,  in  my  day,  of 
a  saint-slaying  tyrant  attempting  to  bind  the  burden  of  prelatic 
abominations  on  our  backs,  such  a  blast  of  the  gospel  trumpet 
would  be  heard  in  Gamock,  as  it  does  not  become  me  to  say, 
but  I  leave  it  to  you  and  others,  who  have  experienced  my 
capacity  as  a  soldier  of  the  word  so  long,  to  think  what  it 
would  then  be.  Meanwhile,  I  remain,  my  dear  sir,  your 
friend  and  pastor,  Z.  Pringle. 

When  Mr.  Snodgrass  had  perused  this  epistle,  he  paused 
some  time,  seemingly  in  doubt,  and  then  he  said  to  Mr. 
Micklewham,  that,  considering  the  view  which  the  Doctor  had 
taken  of  the  matter,  and  that  he  had  not  gone  to  the  play- 
house for  the  motives  which  usually  take  bad  people  to  such 
places,  he  thought  there  could  be  no  possible  harm  in  reading 
the  letter  to  the  elders,  and  that  Mr.  Craig,  so  far  from  being 
displeased,  would  doubtless  be  exceedingly  rejoiced  to  learn 
that  the  playhouses  of  London  were  occasionally  so  well 
employed  as  on  the  night  when  the  Doctor  was  there. 

Mr.  Micklewham  then  inquired  if  Mr.  Snodgrass  had 
heard  from  Mr.  Andrew,  and  was  i.nswered  in  the  affirmative  ; 
but  the  letter  was  not  read.  Why  it  was  withheld  our  readers 
must  guess  for  themselves ;  but  we  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  the  following  copy. 


i 


LETTER    XVII 

Andrew  Pringle^  Esg.^  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Charles  Snodgrass 

London. 

My  dear  Friend — As  the  season  advances,  London  gradu- 
ally unfolds,  like  Nature,  all  the  variety  of  her  powers  and 
pleasures.     By  the  Argents  we  have  been  introduced  eflfectu- 
ally  into  society,  and  have  now  only  to  choose  our  acquaintance 
S  257 


I! 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


i 


among  those  whom  we  like  best.  I  should  employ  another 
word  than  choose,  for  I  am  convinced  that  there  is  no  choice 
in  the  matter.  In  his  friendships  and  affections,  man  is 
subject  to  some  inscrutable  moral  law,  similar  in  its  effects 
to  what  the  chemists  call  affinity.  While  under  the  blind 
influence  of  this  sympathy,  we,  forsooth,  suppose  ourselves 
free  agents  !     But  a  truce  with  philosophy. 

The  amount  of  the  legacy  is  now  ascertained.  The  stock, 
however,  in  which  a  great  part  of  the  money  is  vested  being 
shut,  the  transfer  to  my  father  cannot  be  made  for  some  time  ; 
and  till  this  is  done,  my  mother  cannot  be  persuaded  that  we 
have  yet  got  anything  to  trust  to — an  unfortunate  notion 
which  renders  her  very  unhappy.  The  old  gentleman  himself 
takes  no  interest  now  in  the  business.  He  has  got  his  mind 
at  ease  by  the  payment  of  all  the  legacies  ;  and  having  fallen 
in  with  some  of  the  members  of  that  political  junto,  the  Saints, 
who  are  worldly  enough  to  link,  as  often  as  they  can,  into 
their  association,  the  powerful  by  wealth  or  talent,  his  whole 
time  is  occupied  in  assisting  to  promote  their  humbug ;  and 
he  has  absolutely  taken  it  into  his  head,  that  the  attention  he 
receives  from  them  for  his  subscriptions  is  on  account  of  his 
eloquence  as  a  preacher,  and  that  hitherto  he  has  been 
altogether  in  an  error  with  respect  to  his  own  abilities.  The 
effect  of  this  is  abundantly  amusing  ;  but  the  source  of  it  is 
very  evident.  Like  most  people  who  pass  a  sequestered  life, 
he  had  formed  an  exaggerated  opinion  of  public  characters ; 
and  on  seeing  them  in  reality  so  little  superior  to  the  generality 
of  mankind,  he  imagines  that  he  was  all  the  time  nearer  to 
their  level  than  he  had  ventured  to  suppose ;  and  the 
discovery  has  placed  him  on  the  happiest  terms  with  himself. 
It  is  impossible  that  I  can  respect  his  manifold  excellent 
qualities  and  goodness  of  heart  more  than  I  do ;  but  there  is 
an  innocency  in  this  simplicity,  which,  while  it  often  compels 
me  to  smile,  makes  me  feel  towards  him  a  degree  of  tender- 
ness, somewhat  too  familiar  for  that  filial  reverence  that  is  due 
from  a  son. 

Perhaps,  however,  you  will  think  me  scarcely  less  under 
the  influence  of  a  similar  delusion  when  I  tell  you,  that  I  have 
been  somehow  or  other  drawn  also  into  an  association,  not 
indeed  so  public  or  potent  as  that  of  the  Saints,  but  equally 
persevering  in  the  objects  for  which  it  has  been  formed.     The 

258 


ler 
ive 
}ot 

Illy 

Ihe 


rniLOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION 

drift  of  the  Saints,  as  far  as  I  can  comprehend  the  matter,  is 
to  procure  the  advancement  to  political  power  of  men  dis- 
tinguished for  the  purity  of  their  lives,  and  the  integrity  of 
their  conduct ;  and  in  that  way,  I  presume,  they  expect  to 
effect  the  accomplishment  of  that  blessed  epoch,  the  Millennium, 
when  the  Saints  are  to  rule  the  whole  earth.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  this  is  their  decided  and  determined  object ;  I  only 
infer,  that  it  is  the  necessary  tendency  of  their  proceedings ; 
and  I  say  it  with  all  possible  respect  and  sincerity,  that,  as  a 
public  party,  the  Saints  are  not  only  perhaps  the  most  power- 
ful, but  the  party  which,  at  present,  best  deserves  power. 

The  association,  however,  with  which  I  have  happened  to 
become  connected,  is  of  a  very  different  description.  Their 
object  is,  to  pass  through  life  with  as  much  pleasure  as  they 
can  obtain,  without  doing  anything  unbecoming  the  rank  of 
gentlemen,  and  the  character  of  men  of  honour.  We  do  not 
assemble  such  numerous  meetings  as  the  Saints,  the  Whigs, 
or  the  Radicals,  nor  are  our  speeches  delivered  with  so  much 
vehemence.  We  even,  I  think,  tacitly  exclude  oratory.  In  a 
word,  our  meetings  seldom  exceed  the  perfect  number  of  the 
muses  ;  and  our  object  on  these  occasions  is  not  so  much  to 
deliberate  on  plans  of  prospective  benefits  to  mankind,  as  to 
enjoy  the  present  time  for  ourselves,  under  the  temperate 
inspiration  of  a  well-cooked  dinner,  flavoured  with  elegant  wine, 
and  just  so  much  of  mind  as  suits  the  fleeting  topics  of  the 

day.     T ,  whom  I  formerly  mentioned,  introdiced  me  to 

this  delightful  society.  The  members  consist  of  about  fifty 
gentlemen,  who  dine  occasionally  at  each  other's  houses  ;  the 
company  being  chiefly  selected  from  the  brotherhood,  if  that 
term  can  be  applied  to  a  circle  of  acquaintance,  who,  without 
any  formal  institution  of  rules,  have  gradually  acquired  a  con- 
sistency that  approximates  to  organisation.  But  the  universe 
of  this  vast  city  contains  a  plurality  of  systems  ;  and  the  one 
into  which  I  have  been  attracted  may  be  described  as  that  of 
the  idle  intellects.  In  general  society,  the  members  of  our  party 
are  looked  up  to  as  men  of  taste  and  refinement,  and  are  received 
with  a  degree  of  deference  that  bears  some  resemblance  to  the 
respect  paid  to  the  hereditary  endowment  of  rank.  They  consist 
either  of  young  men  who  have  acquired  distinction  at  college,  or 
gentlemen  of  fortune  who  have  a  relish  for  intellectual  pleasures, 
free  fiom  the  acerbities  of  politics,  or  the  dull  formalities  which 

259 


. 


If 

■i  i 
I 


'.  K 


0 


'     I! 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


so  many  of  the  pious  think  essential  to  their  religious  pre- 
tensions. The  wealthy  furnish  the  entertainments,  which  are 
always  in  a  superior  style,  and  the  ingredient  of  birth  is  not 
requisite  in  the  qualifications  of  a  member,  although  some 
jealousy  is  entertained  of  professional  men,  and  not  a  little  of 

merchants.      T ,  to  whom  I  am  also  indebted  for  this  view 

of  that  circle  of  which  he  is  the  brightest  ornament,  g'ves  a 
felicitous  explanation  of  the  reason.  He  says,  professional 
men,  who  are  worth  anything  at  all,  are  always  ambitious, 
and  endeavour  to  make  their  acquaintance  subservient  to  their 
own  advancement ;  while  merchants  are  liable  to  such  casu- 
alties, that  their  friends  are  constantly  exposed  to  the  risk  of 
being  obliged  to  sink  them  below  their  wonted  equality,  by 
granting  them  favours  in  times  of  difficulty,  or,  what  is  worse, 
by  refusing  to  grant  them. 

I  am  much  indebted  to  you  for  the  introduction  to  your 

friend  G .     He  is  one  of  us  ;  or  rather,  he  moves  in  an 

eccentric  sphere  of  his  own,  which  crosses,  I  believe,  almost 
all  the  orbits  of  all  the  classed  and  classifiable  systems  of 
London.  I  found  him  exactly  what  you  described ;  and  we 
were  on  the  frankest  footing  of  old  friends  in  the  course  of 
the  first  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  did  me  the  honour  to  fancy 
that  I  belonged,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  some  one  of  the 
literary  fraternities  of  Edinburgh,  and  that  I  would  be  curious 
to  see  the  associations  of  the  learned  here.  What  he  said 
respecting  them  was  highly  characteristic  of  the  man.  *  They 
are,'  said  he,  'the  dullest  things  possible.  On  my  return  from 
abroad,  I  visited  them  all,  expecting  to  find  something  of  liiat 
easy  disengaged  mind  ^vhich  constitutes  the  charm  of  those  of 
France  and  Italy.  But  in  London,  among  those  who  have  a 
character  to  keep  up,  there  is  such  a  vigilant  circumspection, 
that  I  should  as  soon  expect  to  find  nature  in  the  ballets  of 
the  Opera-house,  as  genius  at  the  established  haunts  of  authors, 
artists,  and  men  of  science.  Bankes  gives,  I  suppose  officially, 
a  public  breakfast  weekly,  and  opens  his  house  for  conversations 
on  the  Sundays.  I  found  at  his  breakfasts,  tea  and  cofifee, 
with  hot  rolls,  and  men  of  celebrity  afraid  to  speak.  At  the 
conversations,  there  was  something  even  worse.  A  few 
plausible  talking  fellows  created  a  buzz  in  the  room  and  the 
merits  of  some  paltry  nick-nack  of  mechanism  or  science  was 
discussed.     The   party   consisted    undoubtedly   of   the    most 

260 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION 


'1^ 


eminent  men  of  their  respective  lines  in  the  world ;  but  they 
were  each  and  all  so  apprehensive  of  having  their  ideas  pur- 
loined, that  they  took  the  most  guarded  care  never  to  speak 
of  anything  that  they  deemed  of  the  slightest  consequence,  or 
to  hazard  an  opinion  that  might  be  called  in  question.  The 
man  who  either  wishes  to  augment  his  knowledge,  or  to  pass 
his  time  agreeably,  will  never  expose  himself  to  a  repetition  of 
the  fastidious  exhibitions  of  engineers  and  artists  who  have 
their  talents  at  market.  But  such  things  are  among  the 
curiosities  of  London  ;  and  if  you  have  any  inclination  to  under- 
go the  initiating  mortification  of  being  treated  as  a  young  man 
who  may  be  likely  to  interfere  with  their  professional  interests, 
I  can  easily  get  you  introduced.' 

I  do  not  know  whether  to  ascribe  these  strictures  of  your 
friend  to  humour  or  misanthropy ;  but  they  were  said  without 
bitterness ;  indeed  so  much  as  matters  of  course,  that,  at  the 
moment,  I  could  not  but  feel  persuaded  they  were  just.      I  spoke 

of  them  to  T ,  who  says,  that  undoubtedly  G 's  account 

of  the  exhibitions  is  true  in  substance,  but  that  it  is  his  own 
sharp-sightedness  which  causes  him  to  see  them  so  offensively  ; 
for  that  ninety-nine  out  of  the  hundred  in  the  world  would  deem 
an  evening  spent  at  the  conversations  of  Sir  Joseph  Bankes  a 
very  high  intellectual  treat. 

G has  invited  me  f,  dinner,  and  I  expect  some  amuse- 
ment ;  for  T ,  who  is  acquainted  with  him,  says,  that  it  is 

his  fault  to  employ  his  mind  too  much  on  all  occasions ;  and 
that,  in  all  probability,  there  will  be  something,  either  in  the 
fare  or  the  company,  that  I  shall  remember  as  long  as  I  live. 
However,  you  shall  hear  all  about  it  in  my  next. — Yours, 

Andrew  Pringle. 


'; 


On  the  same  Sunday  on  which  Mr.  Micklewham  consulted 
Mr.  Snodgrass  as  to  the  propriety  of  reading  the  Doctor's 
letter  to  the  elders,  the  following  epistle  reached  the  post- 
office  of  Irvine,  and  was  delivered  by  Saunders  Dickie  himself, 
at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Glibbans  to  her  servan  lassie,  who,  as  her 
mistress  had  gone  to  the  Relief  Church,  told  him,  that  he  would 
have  to  come  for  the  postage  the  morn's  morning.  *  Oh,'  said 
Saunders,  '  there's  naething  to  pay  but  my  ain  trouble,  for  it's 
frankit ;  but  aiblins  the  mistress  will  gie  me  a  bit  drappie,  and 
so  I'll  come  betimes  i'  the  morning.' 

261 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


LETTER  XVIII 
Mrs.  Pringle  to  Mrs.  Glibbans 


London. 


My  dear  Mrs.  Glibbans — The  brekirg  up  of  the  old 
Parlament  has  been  the  cause  why  I  did  not  right  you  before, 
it  having  taken  it  out  of  my  poor  to  get  a  frank  for  my  letter 
till  yesterday ;  and  I  do  ashure  you,  that  I  was  most  extra- 
ordinar  uneasy  at  the  great  delay,  wishing  much  to  let  you 
know  the  decayt  state  of  the  Gospel  in  inir  perts,  which  is  the 
pleasure  of  your  life  to  study  by  day,  and  meditate  on  in  the 
watches  of  the  night. 

There  is  no  want  of  going  to  church,  and,  if  that  was  a 
sign  of  grease  and  peese  in  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  the  toun  of 
London  might  hold  a  high  head  in  the  tabernacles  of  the 
faithful  and  true  witnesses.  But  saving  Dr.  Nichol  of  Swallo- 
Street,  and  Dr.  Manuel  of  London- Wall,  there  is  nothing  sound 
in  the  way  of  preeching  here  ;  and  when  I  tell  you  that  Mr. 
John  Gant,  your  friend,  and  some  other  flea-lugged  fallows, 
have  set  up  a  Heelon  congregation,  and  got  a  young  man  to 
preach  Erse  to  the  English,  ye  maun  think  in  what  a  state 
sinful  souls  are  left  in  London.  But  what  I  have  been  the 
most  consarned  about  is  the  state  of  the  dead.  I  am  no 
meaning  those  who  are  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  but  the 
true  dead.  Ye  will  hardly  think,  that  they  are  buried  in  a 
popish -like  manner,  with  prayers,  and  white  gowns,  and 
ministers,  and  spadefuls  of  yerd  cast  upon  them,  and  laid  in 
vauts,  like  kists  of  Grangers  in  a  grocery  seller — and  I  am  told 
that,  after  a  time,  they  are  taken  out  when  the  vaut  is  shur- 
feeted,  and  their  bones  brunt,  if  they  are  no  made  into  lamp- 
black by  a  secret  wark — which  is  a  clean  proof  to  me  that  a 
right  doctrine  cannot  be  established  in  this  land — there  being 
so  little  respec  shone  to  the  dead. 

The  worst  point,  howsomever,  of  all  is,  what  is  done  with 
the  prayers — and  I  have  heard  you  say,  that  although  there 
was  nothing  more  to  objec  to  the  wonderful  Doctor  Chammers 
of  Glasgou,  that  his  reading  of  his  sermons  was  testimony 
against  him  in  the  great  controversy  of  sound  doctrine ;  but 
what  will  you  say  to  reading  of  prayers,  and  no  only  reading 

262 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION 

of  prayers,  but  printed  prayers,  as  if  the  contreet  heart  of  the 
sinner  had  no  more  to  say  to  the  Lord  in  the  hour  of  fasting 
and  humiliation,  than  what  a  bishop  can  indite,  and  a  book- 
seller make  profit  o'.  '  Verily,'  as  I  may  say,  in  a  word  of 
scripter,  I  doobt  if  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  have  yet  been 
preeched  in  this  land  of  London ;  but  the  ministers  have 
good  stipends,  and  where  the  ground  is  well  manured,  it  may 
in  time  bring  forth  fruit  meet  for  repentance. 

There  is  another  thing  that  behoves  me  to  mention,  and  that 
is,  that  an  elder  is  not  to  be  seen  in  the  churches  of  London, 
which  is  a  sore  signal  that  the  piple  are  left  to  themselves  ; 
and  in  what  state  the  morality  can  be,  you  m  y  guess  with 
an  eye  of  pity.  But  on  the  Sabbath  nights,  there  is  such  a 
going  and  coming,  that  it's  more  like  a  cried  fair  than  the 
Lord's  night — all  sorts  of  poor  people,  instead  of  meditating 
on  their  bygane  toil  and  misery  of  the  week,  making  the 
Sunday  their  own  day,  as  if  they  had  not  a  greater  Master 
to  serve  on  that  day,  than  the  earthly  man  whom  they  served 
in  the  week-days.  It  is,  howsomever,  past  the  poor  of  nature 
to  tell  you  of  the  sinfulness  of  London  ;  and  you  may  well 
think  what  is  to  be  the  end  of  all  things,  when  I  ashure  you, 
that  there  is  a  newspaper  sold  every  Sabbath  morning,  and 
read  by  those  that  never  look ,  at  their  Bibles.  Our  landlady 
asked  us  if  we  would  take  one  ;  but  I  thought  the  Doctor 
would  have  fired  the  house,  and  you  know  it  is  not  a  small 
thing  that  kindles  his  passion.  In  short,  London  is  not  a 
place  to  come  to  hear  the  tidings  of  salvation  preeched, — no 
that  I  mean  to  deny  that  there  is  not  herine  more  than  five 
righteous  persons  in  it,  and  I  trust  the  cornal's  hagent  is 
one ;  for  if  he  is  not,  we  are  undone,  having  been  obligated 
to  take  on  already  more  than  a  hundred  pounds  of  debt,  to 
the  account  of  our  living,  and  the  legacy  yet  in  the  dead 
thraws.  But  as  I  mean  this  for  a  spiritual  letter,  I  will  say 
no  more  about  the  root  of  all  evil,  as  it  is  called  in  the  words 
of  truth  and  holiness ;  so  referring  you  to  what  I  have  told 
Miss  Mally  Glencairn  about  the  legacy  and  other  things 
nearest  my  heart,  I  remain,  my  dear  Mrs.  Glibbans,  your 
fellou  Christian  and  sinner,  Janet  Pringle. 

Mrs.  Glibbans  received  this  letter  between  the  preachings, 
and  it  was  observed  by  all  her  acquaintance  during  the  after- 

263 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

noon  service,  that  she  was  a  laden  woman.  Instead  of  stand- 
ing up  at  the  prayers,  as  her  wont  was,  she  kept  her  seat, 
sitting  with  downcast  eyes,  and  ever  and  anon  her  left  hand, 
which  was  laid  over  her  book  on  the  reading-board  of  the 
pew,  was  raised  and  allowed  to  drop  with  a  particular  moral 
emphasis,  bespeaking  the  mournful  cogitations  of  her  spirit. 
On  leaving  the  church,  somebody  whispered  to  the  minister, 
that  surely  Mrs.  Glibbans  had  heard  some  sore  news  ;  upon 
which  that  meek,  mild,  and  modest  good  soul  hastened 
towards  her,  and  inquired,  with  more  than  his  usuil  kindness. 
How  she  was  ?  Her  answer  was  brief  and  mysterious ;  and 
she  shook  her  head  in  such  a  manner  that  showed  him  all 
was  not  right.  '  Have  you  heard  lately  of  your  friends  the 
Pringles?'  said  he,  in  his  sedate  manner — -when  do  they 
think  of  leaving  London  ? ' 

*  I  wish  they  may  ever  get  out  o't,'  was  the  agitated  reply 
of  the  afflicted  lady. 

'  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,'  responded  the  minister. 
'  I  thought  all  was  in  a  fair  way  to  an  issue  of  the  settlement. 
I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  this.' 

*  Oh,  sir,'  said  the  mourner,  *  don't  think  that  I  am  grieved 
for  them  and  their  legacy — filthy  lucre — no,  sir ;  but  I  have 
had  a  letter  that  has  made  my  hair  stand  on  end.  Be  none 
surprised  if  you  hear  of  the  earth  opening,  and  London  swallowed 
up,  and  a  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness,  "Woe,  woe.'" 

The  gentle  priest  was  much  surprised  by  this  information  ; 
it  was  evident  that  Mrs.  Glibbans  had  received  a  terrible 
account  of  the  wickedness  of  London ;  and  that  the  weight 
upon  her  pious  spirit  was  owing  to  that  cause.  He,  therefore, 
accompanied  her  home,  and  administered  all  the  consolation 
he  was  able  to  give ;  assuring  her,  that  it  was  in  the  power 
of  Omnipotence  to  convert  the  stony  heart  into  one  of  flesh 
and  tenderness,  and  to  raise  the  British  metropolis  out  of  the 
miry  clay,  and  place  it  on  a  hill,  as  a  city  that  could  not  be 
hid ;  which  Mrs.  Glibbans  was  so  thankful  to  hear,  that,  as 
soon  as  he  had  left  her,  she  took  her  tea  in  a  satisfactory 
fn  .e  of  mind,  and  went  the  same  night  to  Miss  Mally  Glen- 
cairn  to  hear  what  Mrs.  Pringle  had  said  to  her.  No  visit 
ever  happened  more  opportunely ;  for  just  as  Mrs.  Glibbans 
knocked  at  the  door,  Miss  Isabella  Tod  made  her  appearance. 
She  had  also  received  a  letter  from  Rachel,  in  which  it  will 

264 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION 

be  seen  that  reference  was  made  likewise  to  Mrs.   Pringle's 
epistle  to  Miss  Mally. 


ht 

IS 


LETTER   XIX 

Miss  Rachel  Pringlc  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod 

London. 

My  dear  Bell — How  delusive  are  the  flatteries  of  fortune  ! 
The  wealth  that  has  been  showered  upon  us,  beyond  all  our 
hopes,  has  brought  no  pleasure  to  my  heart,  and  I  pour  my 
unavailing  sighs  for  your  absence,  when  I  would  communicate 
the  cause  of  my  unhappiness.  Captain  Sabre  has  been  most 
assiduous  in  his  attentions,  and  I  must  confess  to  your  sym- 
pathising bosom,  that  I  do  begin  to  find  that  he  has  an 
interest  in  mine.  But  my  mother  will  not  listen  to  his 
proposals,  nor  allow  me  to  give  him  any  encouragement,  till 
the  fatal  legacy  is  settled.  What  can  be  her  motive  for  this, 
I  am  unable  to  divine ;  for  the  captain's  fortune  is  far  beyond 
what  I  could  ever  have  expected  without  the  legacy,  and  equal 
to  all  I  could  hope  for  with  it.  If,  therefore,  there  is  any 
doubt  of  the  legacy  being  paid,  she  should  allow  me  to  accept 
him  ;  and  if  there  is  none,  what  can  I  do  better  ?  In  the 
meantime,  we  are  going  about  seeing  the  sights ;  but  the 
general  mourning  is  a  great  drawback  on  the  splendour  of 
gaiety.  It  ends,  however,  next  Sunday ;  and  then  the  ladies, 
like  the  spring  flowers,  will  be  all  in  full  blossom.  I  was  with 
the  Argents  at  the  opera  on  Saturday  Iftst,  and  it  far  surpassed 
my  ideas  of  grandeur.  But  he  singing  was  not  good — I 
never  could  make  out  the  end  or  the  beginning  of  a  song, 
and  it  was  drowned  with  the  violins ;  the  scenery,  however, 
was  lovely ;  but  I  must  not  say  a  word  about  the  dancers, 
only  that  the  females  behaved  in  a  manner  so  shocking,  that 
I  could  scarcely  believe  it  was  possible  for  the  delicacy  of 
our  sex  to  do.  They  are,  however,  all  foreigners,  who  are, 
you  know,  naturally  of  a  licentious  character,  especially  the 
French  women. 

We  have  taken  an  elegant  house  in  Baker  Street,  where  we 
go  on  Monday  next,  and  our  own  new  carriage  is  to  be  home 
in  the  course  of  the  week.  All  this,  which  has  been  done  by 
the  advice  of  Mrs.  Argent,  gives  my  mother  great  uneasiness, 

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THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


in  case  anything  should  yet  happen  to  the  legacy.  My  brother, 
however,  who  knows  the  law  better  than  her,  only  laughs  at 
her  fears,  and  my  father  has  found  such  a  wonderful  deal  to  do 
in  religion  here,  that  he  is  quite  delighted,  and  is  busy  from 
morning  to  night  in  writing  letters,  and  giving  charitable 
donations.  I  am  soon  to  be  no  less  busy,  but  in  another 
manner.  Mrs.  Argent  has  advised  us  to  get  in  accomplished 
masters  for  me,  so  that,  as  soon  as  we  are  removed  into  our 
own  local  habitation,  I  am  to  begin  with  drawing  and  music, 
and  the  foreign  languages.  I  am  not,  however,  to  learn  much 
of  the  piano  ;  Mrs.  A.  thinks  it  would  take  up  more  time 
than  I  can  now  afford  ;  but  I  am  to  be  cultivated  in  my  singing, 
and  she  is  to  try  if  the  master  that  taught  Miss  Stephens  has  an 
hour  to  spare — and  to  use  her  influence  to  persuade  him  to  give 
it  to  me,  although  he  only  receives  pupils  for  perfectioning, 
except  they  belong  to  families  of  distinction. 

My  brother  had  a  hankering  to  be  made  a  member  of 
Parliament,  and  got  Mr.  Charles  Argent  to  speak  to  my 
father  about  it,  but  neither  he  nor  my  mother  would  hear  of 
such  a  thing,  which  I  was  very  sorry  for,  as  it  would  have  been 
so  convenient  to  me  for  getting  franks  ;  and  I  wonder  my 
mother  did  not  think  of  that,  as  she  grudges  nothing  so  much 
as  the  price  of  postage.  But  nothing  do  I  grudge  so  little, 
especially  when  it  is  a  letter  from  you.  Why  do  you  not  write 
me  oftener,  and  tell  me  what  is  saying  about  us,  particularly  by 
that  spiteful  toad,  Becky  Ghbbans,  who  never  could  hear  of 
any  good  happening  to  her  acquaintance,  without  being  as 
angry  as  if  it  was  obtained  at  her  own  expense  ? 

I  do  not  like  Miss  Argent  so  well  on  acquaintance  as  I  did 
at  first ;  not  that  she  is  not  a  very  fine  lassie,  but  she  gives 
herself  such  airs  at  the  harp  and  piano — because  she  can  play 
every  sort  of  music  at  the  first  sight,  and  sing,  by  looking  at 
the  notes,  any  song,  although  she  never  heard  it,  which  may 
'm  very  well  in  a  play-actor,  or  a  governess,  that  has  to 
s'  m  her  bread  by  music  ;  but  I  think  the  education  of  a  modest 
young  lady  might  have  been  better  conducted. 

Through  the  civility  of  the  Argents,  we  have  been  intro- 
duced to  a  great  number  of  families,  and  been  much  invited ; 
but  all  the  parties  are  so  ceremonious,  that  I  am  never  at  my 
ease,  which  my  brother  says  is  owing  to  my  rustic  education, 
which  I  cannot  understand ;  for,  although  the  people  are  finer 

266 


rillLOSOPIIY  AND  RELIlilON 


dressed,  and  the  dinners  and  rooms  grander  than  what  I  have 
seen,  either  at  Irvine  or  Kilmarnock,  the  company  are  no 
wiser ;  and  I  have  not  met  with  a  single  literary  character 
among  them.  And  what  are  ladies  and  gentlemen  without 
mind,  but  a  well-dressed  mob  !  It  is  to  mind  alone  that  I  am 
at  all  disposed  to  pay  the  homage  of  diffidence. 

The  acquaintance  of  the  Argents  are  all  of  the  first  circle, 
and  we  have  got  an  invitation  to  a  route  from  the  Countess  of 

J y,  in  consequence  of  meeting  her  with  them.     She  is 

a  charming  woman,  and  I  anticipate  great  pleasure.  Miss 
Argent  says,  however,  she  is  ignorant  and  presuming  ;  but 
how  is  it  possible  that  she  can  be  so,  as  she  was  an  earl's 
daughter,  and  bred  up  for  distinction  ?  Miss  Argent  may  be 
presuming,  but  a  countess  is  necessarily  above  that,  at  least  it 
would  only  become  a  duchess  or  marchioness  to  say  so.  This, 
however,  is  not  the  only  occasion  in  which  I  have  seen  the  detrac- 
tive disposition  of  that  young  lady,  who,  with  all  her  simplicity  of 
manners  and  great  accomplishments,  is,  you  will  perceive,  just  like 
ourselves,  rustic  as  she  doubtless  thinks  our  breeding  has  been. 

I  have  observed  that  nobody  in  London  inquires  about  who 
another  is  ;  and  that  in  company  every  one  is  treated  on  an 
equality,  unless  when  there  is  some  remarkable  personal 
peculiarity,  so  that  one  really  knows  nothing  of  those  whom 
one  meets.  But  my  paper  is  full,  and  I  must  not  take  another 
sheet,  as  my  mother  has  a  letter  to  send  in  the  same  frank  to 
Miss  Mally  Glencairn.     Believe  me,  ever  affectionately  yours, 

Rachel  Pringle. 


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The  three  ladies  knew  not  very  well  what  to  make  of  this 
letter.  They  thought  there  was  a  change  in  Rachel's  ideas, 
and  that  it  was  not  for  the  better  ;  and  Miss  Isabella  expressed, 
with  a  sentiment  of  sincere  sorrow,  that  the  acquisition  of 
fortune  seemed  to  have  brought  out  some  unamiable  traits  in 
her  character,  which,  perhaps,  had  she  not  been  exposed  to  the 
companions  and  temptations  of  the  great  world,  would  have 
slumbered,  unfelt  by  herself,  and  unknown  to  her  friends. 

Mrs.  Glibbans  declared,  that  it  was  a  waking  of  original  sin, 
which  the  iniquity  of  London  was  bringing  forth,  as  the  heat 
of  summer  causes  the  rosin  and  sap  to  issue  from  the  bark  of 
the  tree.  In  the  meantime.  Miss  Mally  had  opened  her  letter, 
of  which  we  subjoin  a  copy. 

267 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


LETTER  XX 
Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Mally  Glencaim 


London. 


Dear  Miss  Mally — I  greatly  stand  in  need  of  your  advise 
and  counsel  at  this  time.  The  Doctor's  affair  comes  on  at  a 
fearful  slow  rate,  and  the  money  goes  like  snow  off  a  dyke. 
It  is  not  to  be  told  what  has  been  paid  for  legacy-duty,  and  no 
legacy  yet  in  hand  ;  and  we  have  been  obligated  to  lift  a  whole 
f'andred  pounds  out  of  the  residue,  and  what  that  is  to  be  the 
Lord  only  knows.  But  Miss  Jenny  Macbride,  she  has  got  her 
thousand  pound,  all  in  one  bank  bill,  sent  to  her ;  Thomas 
Bowie,  the  doctor  in  Ayr,  he  has  got  his  five  hundred  pounds ; 
and  auld  Nanse  Sorrel,  that  was  nurse  to  the  cornal,  she 
has  got  the  first  year  of  her  twenty  pounds  a  year ;  but  we 
have  gotten  nothing,  and  I  jealouse,  that  if  things  go  on  at  this 
rate,  there  will  be  nothing  to  get ;  and  what  will  become  of  us 
then,  after  all  the  trubble  and  outlay  that  we  have  been  pot  too 
by  this  coming  to  London  ? 

Howsomever,  this  is  the  black  side  of  the  storj' ;  for  Mr. 
Charles  Argent,  in  a  jocose  way,  proposed  to  get  Andrew  made 
a  Parliament  member  for  three  thousand  pounds,  which  he 
said  was  cheap  ;  and  surely  he  would  not  have  thought  of  such 
a  thing,  had  he  not  known  that  Andrew  would  have  the 
money  to  pay  for't ;  and,  over  and  above  this,  Mrs.  Argent 
has  been  recommending  Captain  Sabre  to  me  for  Rachel,  and 
she  says  he  is  a  stated  gentleman,  with  two  thousand  pounds 
rental,  and  her  nephew ;  and  surely  she  would  not  think 
Rachel  a  match  for  him,  unless  she  had  an  inkling  from  her 
gudeman  of  what  Rachel's  to  get.  But  I  have  told  her  that 
we  would  think  of  nothing  of  the  sort  till  the  counts  war 
settled,  which  she  may  tell  to  her  gudeman,  and  if  he  approves 
the  match,  it  will  make  him  hasten  on  the  settlement,  for 
really  I  am  growing  tired  of  this  London,  whar  I  am  just  like 
a  fish  out  of  the  water.  The  Englishers  are  sae  obstinate  in  their 
own  way,  that  I  can  get  them  to  do  nothing  like  Christians ; 
and,  what  is  most  provoking  of  all,  their  ways  are  very  good 
when  you  know  them ;  but  they  have  no  instink  to  teach  a 
body  how  to  learn  them.     Just  this  verj'  morning,  I  told  the 

268 


d 

a 


niiLosornY  and  religion 

lass  to  get  a  jiggot  of  mutton  for  the  morn's  dinner,  and  she 
said  there  was  not  such  a  thing  to  be  had  in  London,  and 
threeppit  it  till  I  couldna  stand  her ;  and,  had  it  not  been  that 
Mr.  Argent's  French  servan'  man  happened  to  come  with  a 
cart,  inviting  us  to  a  ball,  and  who  understood  what  a  jiggot 
was,  I  might  have  reasoned  till  the  day  of  doom  without 
redress.  As  for  the  Doctor,  I  declare  he's  like  an  enchantit 
person,  for  he  has  falling  in  with  a  party  of  the  elect  here,  as  he 
says,  and  they  have  a  kilfud    yoking  every  Ihursday  at    the 

house  of  Mr.   W ,  where  the  Doctor  has  been,  and  was 

asked  to  pray,  and  did  it  with  great  effec,  which  has  made  him 
so  up  in  the  buckle,  that  he  does  nothing  but  go  to  Bible 
soceeyetis,  and  mishonary  meetings,  and  cherity  sarmons, 
which  cost  a  poor  of  money. 

IJut  what  consarns  me  more  than  all  is,  that  the  tempta- 
tions of  this  vanity  fair  have  turnt  the  head  of  Andrew, 
and  he  has  bought  two  horses,  with  an  English  man-servan', 
which  you  know  is  an  eating  moth.  But  how  he  payt  for 
them,  and  whar  he  is  to  keep  them,  is  past  the  compass  of  my 
understanding.  In  short,  if  the  legacy  does  not  cast  up  soon, 
I  see  nothing  left  for  us  but  to  leave  the  world  as  a  legacy  to 
you  all,  for  my  heart  will  be  broken — and  I  often  wish  that  the 
cornel  hadna  made  us  his  residees,  but  only  given  us  a  clean 
soom,  like  Miss  Jenny  Macbride,  although  if  had  been  no  more  ; 
for,  my  dear  Miss  Mally,  it  does  not  doo  for  a  woman  of  my 
time  of  life  to  be  taken  out  of  her  element,  and,  instead  of 
looking  after  her  family  with  a  thrifty  eye,  to  be  sitting  dressed 
all  day  seeing  the  money  fleeing  like  sclato  stanes.  But  what 
I  have  to  tell  is  worse  than  all  this  ;  we  have  been  persuaded 
to  take  a  furnisht  house,  where  we  go  on  Monday  ;  and  we  are 
to  pay  for  it,  for  three  months,  no  less  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds,  which  is  more  than  the  half  of  the  Doctor's  whole 
stipend  is,  when  the  meal  is  twenty-pence  the  peck  ;  and  we 
are  to  have  three  servan'  lassies,  besides  Andrew's  man,  and 
the  coachman  that  we  have  hired  altogether  for  ourselves, 
having  been  persuaded  to  trist  a  new  carriage  of  our  own  by 
the  Argents,  which  I  trust  the  Argents  will  find  money  to  pay 
for  ;  and  masters  are  to  come  in  to  teach  Rachel  the  fasionable 
accomplishments,  Mrs.  Argent  thinking  she  was  rather  old  now 
to  be  sent  to  a  boarding-school.  But  what  I  am  to  get  to  do 
for   so  many  vorashous  servants,  is  dreadful  to  think,  there 

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:i  '! 


i  , 


■■^i 


!i 


;| 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

being  no  such  thing  as  a  wheel  within  the  four  walls  of  London  ; 
and,  if  there  was,  the  Englisheis  no  nothing  about  spinning. 
In  short,  Miss  Mally,  I  am  driven  dimentit,  and  I  wish  I 
could  get  the  Doctor  to  come  home  with  me  to  our  manse, 
and  leave  all  to  Andrew  and  Rachel,  with  kurators ;  but,  as  I 
said,  he's  as  mickle  bye  himself  as  onybody,  and  says  that  his 
candle  has  been  hidden  under  a  bushel  at  Garnock  more  than 
thirty  years,  which  looks  as  if  the  poor  man  was  fey ;  how- 
somever,  he's  happy  in  his  delooshon,  for  if  he  was  afflictit 
with  that  forethought  and  wisdom  that  I  have,  I  know  not 
what  would  be  the  upshot  of  all  this  calamity.  But  we  maun 
hope  for  the  best ;  and,  happen  what  will,  I  am,  dear  Miss 
Mally,  your  sincere  friend,  Janft  Pringle. 

Miss  Mally  sighed  as  she  concluded,  and  said, '  Riches  do  not 
always  bring  happiness,  and  poor  Mrs.  Pringle  would  have  been 
far  better  looking  after  her  cows  and  her  butter,  and  keeping 
her  lassies  at  their  wark,  than  with  all  this  galravitching  and 
grandeur.'  *  Ah  ! '  added  Mrs.  Glibbans,  *  she's  now  a  testifyer 
to  the  ttuth — she's  now  a  testifyer ;  happy  it  will  be  for  her  if 
she's  enabled  to  make  a  sanctified  use  of  the  dispensation.' 


270 


CHAPTER  VII 


DISCOVERIES   AND   REBELLIONS 


One  evening  as  Mr.  Snodgrass  was  taking  a  solitary  walk 
towards  Irvine,  for  the  purpose  of  calling  on  Miss  Mally 
Glencaim,  to  inquire  what  had  been  her  latest  accounts  from 
their  mutual  friends  in  London,  and  to  read  to  her  a  letter, 
which  he  had  received  two  days  before,  from  Mr.  Andrew 
Pringle,  he  met,  near  Eglintoun  Gates,  that  pious  woman, 
Mrs.  Glibbans,  coming  to  Garnock,  brimful  of  some  most 
extraordinary  intelligence.  The  air  was  raw  and  humid,  and 
the  ways  were  deep  and  foul ;  she  was,  however,  protected 
without,  and  tempered  within,  against  the  dangers  of  both. 
Over  her  venerable  satin  mantle,  lined  with  cat-skin,  she  wore 
a  scarlet  duffle  Bath  cloak,  with  which  she  was  wont  to  attend 
the  tent  sermons  of  the  Kilwinning  and  Dreghorn  preachings 
in  cold  and  inclement  weather.  Her  black  silk  petticoat  was 
pinned  up,  that  it  might  not  receive  injury  from  the  nimble 
paddling  of  her  short  steps  in  the  mire  ;  and  she  carried  her 
best  shoes  and  stockings  in  a  handkerchief  to  be  changed  at 
the  manse,  and  had  fortified  her  feet  for  the  road  in  coarse 
worsted  hose,  and  thick  plain-soled  leather  shoes. 

Mr.  Snodgrass  proposed  to  turn  back  with  her,  but  she 
would  not  permit  him.  *  No,  sir,'  said  she,  '  what  I  am  about 
you  cannot  meddle  in.  You  are  here  but  a  stranger — come 
to-day,  and  gane  to-morrow ; — and  it  does  not  pertain  to  you 
to  sift  into  the  doings  that  have  been  done  before  your  time. 
Oh  dear ;  but  this  is  a  sad  thing — nothing  like  it  since  the 
silencing  of  M'Auly  of  Greenock.  Wliat  will  the  worthy 
Doctor  say  when  he  hears  tell  o't  ?  Had  it  fa'n  oat  with  that 
neighering  body,  James  Daff,  I  wouldna  hae  car^t  a  snuff  of 

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THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

tobacco,  but  wi'  Mr.  Craig,  a  man  so  gifted  wi'  the  power  of 
the  Spirit,  as  I  hae  often  had  a  delightful  experience  !  Ay, 
ay,  Mr.  Snodgrass,  take  heed  lest  ye  fall ;  we  maun  all  lay  it 
to  heart ;  but  I  hope  the  trooper  is  still  within  the  jurisdiction 
of  church  censures.  She  shouidna  be  spairt.  Nae  doubt, 
the  i>ult  lies  with  her,  and  it  is  that  I  am  going  to  search ; 
yea,  as  with  a  lighted  candle.' 

Mr.  Snodgrass  expressed  his  inability  to  understand  to 
what  Mrs.  Glibbans  alluded,  and  a  very  long  and  interesting 
disclosure  took  place,  the  substance  of  which  may  be  gathered 
from  the  following  letter ;  the  immediate  and  instigating  cause 
of  the  lady's  journey  to  Garnock  being  the  alarming  intelligence 
which  she  had  that  day  received  of  Mr.  Craig's  servant-damsel 
Betty  having,  by  the  style  and  title  of  Mrs.  Craig,  sent  for 
Nanse  Swaddle,  the  midwife,  to  come  to  her  in  her  own  case, 
which  seemed  to  Mrs.  Glibbans  nothing  short  of  a  miracle, 
Betty  having,  the  very  Sunday  before,  helped  the  kettle  when 
she  drank  tea  with  Mr.  Craig,  and  sat  at  the  room  door,  on 
a  buffet -stool  brought  from  the  kitchen,  while  he  performed 
family  worship,  to  the  great  solace  and  edification  of  his 
visitor. 


LETTER  XXI 

The  Rev.  Z.  Pringle^  D.D.,  to  Mr.  Micklewhani^  Schoolmaster 
and  Session-Clerk^  Garnock 

Dear  Sir — I  have  received  your  letter  of  the  24th,  which 
has  given  me  a  great  surprise  to  hear,  that  Mr.  Craig  was 
married  as  far  back  as  Christmas,  to  his  own  servant  lass 
Betty,  and  me  to  know  nothing  of  it,  nor  you  neither,  until  it 
was  time  to  be  speaking  to  the  midwife.  To  be  sure,  Mr. 
Craig,  who  is  an  elder,  and  a  very  rigid  man,  in  his  animad- 
versions on  the  immoralities  that  come  before  the  session, 
must  have  had  his  own  good  reasons  for  keeping  his  marriage 
so  long  a  secret.  Tell  him,  however,  from  me,  that  I  wish 
both  him  and  Mrs.  Craig  much  joy  and  felicity ;  but  he  should 
be  milder  for  the  future  on  the  thoughtlessness  of  youth  and 
headstrong  passions.  Not  that  I  insinuate  that  there  has  been 
any  occasion  in  the  conduct  of  such  a  godly  man  to  cause  a 
suspicion  ;  but  it's  wonderful  how  he  was  married  in  December, 

272 


DISCOVERIES  AND  REBELLIONS 


?  1 

1' 


and  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  altogether  so  proud  to  hear  it  as 
I  am  at  all  times  of  the  well-doing  of  my  people.  Really  the 
way  that  Mr.  Daff  has  comported  himself  in  this  matter  is 
greatly  to  his  credit ;  and  I  doubt  if  the  thing  had  happened 
with  him,  that  Mr.  Craig  would  have  sifted  with  a  sharp  eye 
how  he  came  to  be  married  in  December,  and  without  bridal 
and  banquet.  For  my  part,  I  could  not  have  thought  it  of 
Mr.  Craig,  but  it's  done  now,  and  the  less  we  say  about  it  the 
better ;  so  I  think  with  Mr.  Daff,  that  it  must  be  looked  over ; 
but  when  I  return,  I  will  speak  both  to  the  husband  and  wife, 
and  not  without  letting  them  have  an  inkling  of  what  I  think 
about  their  being  married  in  December,  which  was  a  great 
shame,  even  if  there  was  no  sin  in  it.  But  I  will  say  no  more  ; 
for  truly,  Mr.  Micklewham,  the  longer  we  live  in  this  world, 
and  the  farther  we  go,  and  the  better  we  know  ourselves,  the 
less  reason  have  we  to  think  slightingly  of  our  neighbours ; 
but  the  more  to  convince  our  hearts  and  understandings,  that 
we  are  all  prone  to  evil,  and  desperately  wicked.  For  where 
does  hypocrisy  not  abound  ?  and  I  have  had  my  own  experience 
here,  that  what  a  man  is  to  the  world,  and  to  his  own  heart, 
is  a  very  different  thing. 

In  my  last  letter,  I  gave  you  a  pleasing  notification  of  the 
growth,  as  I  thought,  of  spirituality  in  this  Babylon  of  deceit-  • 
fulness,  thin>''  g  that  you  and  my  people  would  be  gladdened 
with  the  tidings  of  the  repute  and  estimation  in  which  your ,  >'* 
minister  was  held,  and   I   have  dealt  largely  in  the  way  p£i^ 
public  charity.     But  I  doubt  that  I  have  been  governed  by"ji^|, 
spirit  of  ostentation,  and  not  with  that  lowly-mindedness,  with-  * 
out  which  all  almsgiving  is  but  a  serving  of  the  altars  of  Belzebub  ; 
for  the  chastening  hand  has  been  laid  upon  me,  but  with  the 
kindness  and  pity  which  a  tender  father  hath  for  his  dear 
children. 

I  was  requested  by  those  who  come  so  cordially  to  me  with 
their  subscription  papers,  for  schools  and  suffering  worth,  to 
preach  a  sermon  to  get  a  collection.  I  have  no  occasion  to 
tell  you,  that  when  I  exert  myself,  what  effect  I  can  produce ; 
and  I  never  made  so  great  an  exertion  before,  which  in  itself 
was  a  proof  that  it  was  with  the  two  bladders,  pomp  and  vanity, 
that  I  had  committed  myself  to  swim  on  the  uncertain  waters 
of  London  ;  for  surely  my  best  exertions  were  due  to  my 
people.  But  when  the  Sabbath  came  upon  which  I  was  to 
T  273 


ill 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


hold  forth,  how  were  my  hopes  withered,  and  my  expectations 
frustrated.  Oh,  Mr.  Micklewham,  what  an  inattentive  congre- 
gation was  yonder !  many  slumbered  and  slept,  and  I  sowed 
the  words  of  truth  and  holiness  in  vain  upon  their  barren  and 
stoney  hearts.  There  is  no  true  grace  among  some  that  I 
shall  not  name,  for  I  saw  them  whispering  and  smiling  like 
the  scorners,  and  altogether  heedless  unto  the  precious  things 
of  my  discourse,  which  could  not  have  been  the  case  had  they 
been  sincere  in  their  professions,  for  I  never  preached  more  to 
my  own  satisfaction  on  any  occasion  whatsoever — and,  when  I 
return  to  my  own  parish,  you  shall  hear  what  I  said,  as  I  will 
preach  the  same  sermon  over  again,  for  I  am  not  going  now 
to  print  it,  as  I  did  once  think  of  doing,  and  to  have  dedicated 
it  to  Mr.  W . 

We  are  going  about  in  an  easy  way,  seeing  what  is  to  be 
seen  in  the  shape  of  curiosities ;  but  the  whole  town  is  in  a 
state  of  ferment  with  the  election  of  members  to  Parliament. 
I  have  been  to  see't,  both  in  the  Guildhall  and  at  Covent 
Garden,  and  it's  a  frightful  thing  to  see  how  the  Radicals  roar 
like  bulls  of  Bashan,  and  put  down  the  speakers  in  behalf  of 
the  government.  I  hope  no  harm  will  come  of  yon,  but  I 
must  say,  that  I  prefer  our  own  quiet  canny  Scotch  way  at 
Irvine.  Well  do  I  remember,  for  it  happened  in  the  year  I 
was  licensed,  that  the  town  council,  the  Lord  Eglinton  that 
was  shot  being  then  provost,  took  in  the  late  Thomas  Bowet 
to  be  a  counsellor ;  and  Thomas,  not  being  versed  in  election 
matters,  yet  minding  to  please  his  lordship  (for,  like  the  rest 
of  the  council,  he  had  always  a  proper  veneration  for  those  in 
power),  he,  as  I  was  saying,  consulted  Joseph  Boyd  the  weaver, 
who  was  then  Dean  of  Guild,  as  to  the  way  of  voting ;  where- 
upon Jc  eph,  who  was  a  discreet  man,  said  to  him,  '  Ye'U  just 
say  as  I  say,  and  I'll  say  what  Bailie  Shaw  says,  for  he  will 
do  what  my  lord  bids  him ' ;  which  was  as  peaceful  a  way  of 
sending  up  a  member  to  Parliament  as  could  well  be  devised. 

But  you  know  that  politics  are  far  from  my  hand — they 
belong  to  the  temporalities  of  the  community  ;  and  the  ministers 
of  peace  and  goodwill  to  man  should  neither  make  nor  meddle 
with  them.  I  wish,  however,  that  these  tumultuous  elections 
were  well  over,  for  they  have  had  an  effect  on  the  per  cents, 
where  our  bit  legacy  is  funded  ;  and  it  would  terrify  you  to 
hear  what  we  have  thereby  already  lost.     We  have  not,  how- 

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THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

ever,  lost  so  much  but  that  I  can  spare  a  little  to  the  poor 
am  iii,(  my  people  ;  so  you  will,  in  the  dry  weather,  after  the 
seed-cime,  hire  two-three  thackers  to  mend  the  thack  on  the 
roofs  of  such  of  the  cottars'  houses  as  stand  in  need  of  mending, 

and  banker  M y  will  pay  the  expense ;  and  I  beg  you  to 

go  to  him  on  receipt  hereof,  for  he  has  a  line  for  yourself, 
which  you  will  be  sure  to  accept  as  a  testimony  from  me  for 
the  great  trouble  that  my  absence  from  the  parish  has  given 
to  you  among  my  people,  and  I  am,  dear  sir,  your  friend  and 


pastor. 


Z.  Pringle. 


As  Mrs.  Glibbans  would  not  permit  Mr.  Snodgrass  to  return 
with  her  to  the  manse,  he  pursued  his  journey  alone  to  the 
Kirkgate  of  Irvine,  where  he  found  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  on 
the  eve  of  sitting  down  to  her  solitary  tea.  On  seeing  her 
visitor  enter,  after  the  first  compliments  on  the  state  of  health 
and  weather  were  over,  she  expressed  her  hopes  that  he  had 
not  drank  tea ;  and,  on  receiving  a  negative,  which  she  did 
not  quite  expect,  as  she  thought  he  had  been  perhaps  invited 
by  some  of  her  neighbours,  she  put  in  an  additional  spoonful 
on  his  account ;  and  brought  from  her  corner  cupboard  with 
the  glass  door,  an  ancient  French  pickle-bottle,  in  which  she 
had  preserved,  since  the  great  tea-drinking  formerly  mentioned, 
the  remainder  of  the  two  ounces  of  carvey,  the  best,  Mrs. 
Nanse  bought  for  that  memorable  occasion.  A  short  con- 
versation then  took  place  relative  to  the  Pringles ;  and,  while 
the  tea  was  masking,  for  Miss  Mally  said  it  took  a  long  time 
to  draw,  she  read  to  him  the  following  letter : — 


LETTER  XXII 

Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Mally  Glencairn 

My  dear  Miss  Mally — Trully,  it  may  be  said,  that  the 
croun  of  England  is  upon  the  downfal,  and  surely  we  are  all 
seething  in  the  pot  of  revolution,  for  the  scum  is  mounting 
uppermost.  Last  week,  no  farther  gone  than  on  Mononday, 
we  came  to  our  new  house  heer  in  Baker  Street,  but  it's  nather 
to  be  bakit  nor  brewt  what  I  hav  sin  syne  sufifert.  You  no 
my  way,  and  that  I  like  a  been  house,  but  no  wastrie,  and  so 
I  needna  tell  yoo,  that  we  hav  had  good  diners ;  to  be  sure, 

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DISCOVERIES  AND  REBELLIONS 

there  was  not  a  meerakle  left  to  fill  five  baskets  every  day,  but 
an  abundance,  with  a  proper  kitchen  of  breed,  to  fill  the 
nellies  of  four  dumasticks.  Howsomever,  lo  and  behold, 
what  was  decking  downstairs.  On  Saturday  morning,  as  we 
were  sitting  at  our  breakfast,  the  Doctor  reading  the  news- 
papers, who  shoud  com  intil  the  room  but  Andrew's  grum, 
foUo't  by  the  rest,  to  give  us  warning  that  they  were  all  going 
to  quat  our  sairvice,  becas  they  were  starvit.  I  thocht  that  I 
would  hav  fentit  cauld  deed,  but  the  Doctor,  who  is  a  con- 
siederat  man,  inquairt  what  made  them  starve,  and  then  there 
was  such  an  approbrious  cry  about  cold  nicet  and  bare  bones, 
and  no  beer.  It  was  an  evendoun  resurection — a  rebellion 
waur  than  the  forty-five.  In  short,  Miss  Mally,  to  make  a 
leettle  of  a  lang  tail,  they  would  have  a  hot  joint  day  and  day 
about,  and  a  tree  of  yill  to  stand  on  the  gauntress  for  their 
draw  and  drink,  with  a  cock  and  a  pail ;  and  we  were  obligated 
to  evacuate  to  their  terms,  and  to  let  them  go  to  their  wark 
with  flying  colors ;  so  you  see  how  dangerous  it  is  to  live 
among  this  piple,  and  their  noshans  of  liberty. 

You  will  see  by  the  newspapers  that  ther's  a  lection  going 
on  for  parliament.  It  maks  my  corruption  to  rise  to  hear  of 
such  doings,  and  if  I  was  a  government  as  I'm  but  a  v/oman, 
I  woud  put  them  doon  with  the  strong  hand,  just  to  be 
revenged  on  the  proud  stomaks  of  these  het  and  fou 
English. 

We  have  gotten  our  money  in  the  pesents  put  into  our 
name ;  but  I  have  had  no  peese  since,  for  they  have  fallen  in 
price  three  eight  parts,  which  is  very  near  a  half,  and  if  they 
go  at  this  rate,  where  will  all  our  legacy  soon  be  ?  I  have  no 
goo  of  the  pesents  ;  so  we  are  on  the  look-out  for  a  landed 
estate,  being  a  shure  thing. 

Captain  Saber  is  still  sneking  after  Rachel,  and  if  she  were 
awee  perfited  in  her  accomplugments,  it's  no  saying  what  might 
happen,  for  he's  a  fine  lad,  but  she's  o'er  young  to  be  the  heed 
of  a  family.  Howsomever,  the  Lord's  will  maun  be  done,  and 
if  there  is  to  be  a  match,  rhe'll  no  have  to  fight  for  gentility 
with  a  straitent  circumstance. 

As  for  Andrew,  I  wish  he  was  weel  settlt,  and  we  have  our 
hopes  that  he's  beginning  to  draw  up  with  Miss  Argent,  who 
will  have,  no  doobt,  a  great  fortune,  and  is  a  treasure  of  a 
creeture  in  herself,  being  just  as  simple  as  a  lamb ;  but,  to  be 

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Copyright  1895  by  Macmiiian  &•  Co, 


DISCOVERIES  AND  REBELLIONS 


sure,  she  has  h.id  every  advantage  of  cdication,  being  brought 
up  in  a  most  fashonible  boarding-school. 

I  hope  you  have  got  the  box  I  sent  1)y  the  smak,  and  that 
you  like  the  patron  of  the  goon.  So  no  more  at  present,  but 
remains,  dear  Miss  Mally,  your  sinsairc  friend, 

Jankt  Prinolk. 

'The  box,'   said   Miss   Mally,    'that   Mrs,    Pringlc   speaks 


about 


came  last  night.  It  contams  a  very  handsome  present 
to  me  and  to  Miss  Bell  Tod.  The  gift  to  me  is  from  Mrs. 
P.  herself,  and  Miss  Bell's  from  Rachel ;  but  that  cttercap, 
Becky  Glibbans,  is  flying  through  the  town  like  a  spunky, 
mislikening  the  one  and  misca'ing  the  other :  everybody, 
however,  kens  that  it's  only  spite  that  gars  her  speak.  It's  a 
great  pity  that  she  cou'dna  be  brought  to  a  sense  of  religion 
like  her  mother,  who,  in  her  younger  days,  they  say,  wasna 
to  seek  at  a  clashing.' 

Mr.  Snodgrass  expressed  his  surprise  at  this  account  of  the 
faults  of  that  exemplary  lady's  youth  ;  but  he  thought  of  her 
holy  anxiety  to  sift  into  the  circumstances  of  Betty,  the  elder's 
servant,  becoming  in  one  day  Mrs.  Craig,  and  the  same 
afternoon  sending  for  the  midwife,  and  he  prudently  made  no 
other  comment ;  for  the  characters  of  all  preachers  were  in  her 
hands,  and  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  stand  high  in  her 
favour,  as  a  young  man  of  great  promise.  In  order,  therefore, 
to  avoid  any  discussion  respecting  moral  merits,  he  read  the 
following  letter  from  Andrew  Pringle  : — 


'1 


LETTER  XXIII 

Andrew  Pringlc^  Esq.,  to  the  Reverend  Charles  Snodgrass 

Mv  DEAR  Friend — London  undoubtedly  affords  the  best 
and  the  worst  specimens  of  the  British  character  ;  but  there  is 
a  certain  townish  something  about  the  inhabitants  in  general, 
of  which  I  find  it  extremely  difficult  to  convey  any  idea. 
Compared  with  the  English  of  the  country,  there  is  apparently 
very  little  difference  between  them ;  but  still  there  is  a 
difference,  and  of  no  small  importance  in  a  moral  point  of  view. 
The  country  peculiarity  is  like  the  bloom  of  the  plumb,  or  the 

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THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


down  of  the  peach,  which  the  fingers  of  -nfancy  cannot  touch 
without  injuring  ;  but  this  feU  but  not  dcscribable  quahty  of 
the  town  character,  is  as  the  varnish  which  brings  out  more 
vividly  the  colours  of  a  picture,  and  which  may  be  freely  and 
even  rudely  handled.  The  women,  for  example,  although  as 
chaste  in  principle  as  those  of  any  other  community,  possess 
none  of  that  innocent  untemptcd  simplicity,  which  is  more  than 
half  the  grace  of  virtue  ;  many  of  them,  and  even  young  ones 
too,  *  in  the  first  freshness  of  their  virgin  beauty,'  speak  of  the 
conduct  and  vocation  of  *  the  erring  sisters  of  the  sex,'  in  a 
manner  that  often  amazes  me,  and  has,  in  more  than  one 
instance,  excited  unpleasant  feelings  towards  the  fair  satirists. 
This  moral  taint,  for  I  can  consider  it  as  nothing  less,  I  have 
heard  defended,  but  only  by  men  who  are  supposed  to  have 
had  a  large  experience  of  the  world,  and  who,  perhaps,  on  that 
account,  are  not  the  best  judges  of  female  delicacy.  *  Every 
woman,'  as  Pope  says,  *  may  be  at  heart  a  rake ' ;  but  it  is  for 
the  interests  of  the  domestic  affections,  which  are  the  very 
elements  of  virtue,  to  cherish  the  notion,  that  women,  as  they 
arc  physically  more  delicate  than  men,  are  also  so  morally. 

But  the  absence  of  delicacy,  the  bloom  of  virtue,  is  not 
peculiar  to  the  females,  it  is  characteristic  of  all  the  varieties 
of  the  metropolitan  mind.  The  artifices  of  the  medical  quacks 
are  things  of  universal  ridicule  ;  but  the  sin,  though  in  a  less 
gross  form,  pervades  the  whole  of  that  sinister  system  by  which 
much  of  the  superiority  of  this  vast  metropolis  is  supported. 
The  state  of  the  periodical  press,  that  great  organ  of  political 
instruction — the  unruly  tongue  of  liberty,  strikingly  confirms 
the  justice  of  this  misanthropic  remark. 

G had  the  kindness,  by  way  of  a  treat  to  me,   to 

collect,  the  other  day,  at  dinner,  some  of  the  most  eminent 
editors  of  the  London  journals.  I  found  uiem  men  of  talent, 
certainly,  and  much  more  men  of  the  world,  than  'the 
cloistered  student  from  his  paling  lamp ' ;  but  I  was  astonished 
to  find  it  considered,  tacitly,  as  a  sort  of  maxim  among  them, 
that  an  intermediate  party  was  not  bound  by  any  obligation  of 
honour  to  withhold,  farther  than  his  own  discretion  suggested, 
any  information  of  which  he  was  the  accidental  depositary, 
whatever  the  consequences  might  be  to  his  informant,  or  to 
those  affected  by  the  communication.  In  a  word,  they  seemed 
all  to  care  less  about  what  might  be  true  than  what  would 

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DISCOVKRIES  AND  REBELLIONS 


produce  effect,  and  that  effect  for  their  own  particular 
advantage.  It  is  impossible  to  deny,  that  if  interest  is  made 
the  criterion  by  which  the  confidences  of  social  intercourse  are 
to  be  respected,  the  persons  who  admit  this  doctrine  will  have 
but  little  respect  for  the  use  of  names,  rir  deem  it  any 
reprehensible  delinquency  to  suppress  truth,  or  to  blazon 
falsehood.  In  a  word,  man  in  London  is  not  quite  so  good  a 
creature  as  he  is  )ut  of  it.  The  rivalry  of  interests  is  here  too 
intense  ;  it  impairs  the  affections,  and  occasions  speculations 
both  in  morals  and  politics,  which,  I  much  suspect,  it  would 
puzzle  a  casuist  to  prove  blameless.  Can  anything,  for 
example,  be  more  offensive  to  the  calm  spectator,  than  the 
elections  which  are  now  going  on  ?  Is  it  possible  that  this 
country,  so  much  smaller  in  geographical  extent  than  France, 
and  so  inferior  in  natural  resources,  restricted  too  by 
those  ties  and  obligations  which  were  thrown  off  as  fetters 
by  that  country  during  the  late  war,  could  have  attained,  in 
despite  of  her,  such  a  lofty  pre-eminence — become  the  foremost 
of  all  the  world — had  it  not  been  governed  in  a  manner 
congenial  to  the  spirit  of  the  people,  and  with  great  practical 
wisdom  ?  It  is  absurd  to  assert,  that  there  are  no  corruptions 
in  the  various  modifications  by  which  the  affairs  of  the  British 
empire  are  administered ;  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  show, 
that,  in  the  present  state  of  morals  and  interests  among 
mankind,  corruption  is  not  a  necessary  evil.  I  do  not  mean 
necessary,  as  evolved  from  those  morals  and  interests,  but 
necessary  to  the  management  of  political  trusts.  I  am  afraid, 
however,  to  insist  on  this,  as  the  natural  integrity  of  your  own 
heart,  and  the  dignity  of  your  vocation,  will  alike  induce  you 
to  condemn  it  as  Machiavellian.  It  is,  however,  an  observation 
forced  on  me  by  what  I  have  seen  here. 

It  would  be  invidious,  perhaps,  to  criticise  the  different 
candidates  for  the  representation  of  London  and  Westminster 
very  severely.  I  think  it  must  be  granted,  that  they  are  as 
sincere  in  their  professions  as  their  opponents,  which  at  least 
bleaches  away  much  of  that  turpitude  of  which  their  political 
conduct  is  accused  by  those  who  are  of  a  different  way  of 
thinking.  But  it  is  quite  evident,  at  least  to  me,  that  no 
government  could  exist  a  week,  managed  with  that  subjection 
to  public  opinion  to  which  Sir  Francis  Burdett  and  Mr. 
Hobhouse  apparently  submit ;  and  it  is  no  less  certain,  that  no 

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'  (, 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


government  ought  to  exist  a  single   day  that  would    act    in 
complete  defiance  of  public  opinion. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  Sir  Francis  Burdett  an  uncommonly 
mild  and  gentlemanly-looking  man.  I  had  pictured  somehow 
to  my  imagination  a  dark  and  morose  character ;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  in  his  appearance,  deportment,  and  manner  of 
speaking,  he  is  eminently  qualified  to  attract  popular  applause. 
His  style  of  speaking  is  not  particularly  oratorical,  but  he  has 
the  art  of  saying  bitter  things  m  a  sweet  way.  In  his  language, 
however,  although  pungent,  and  sometimes  even  eloquent,  he 
is  singularly  incorrect.  He  cannot  utter  a  sequence  of  three 
sentences  without  violating  common  grammar  in  the  most 
atrocious  way  ;  und  his  tropes  and  figures  are  so  distorted, 
hashed,  and  broken — such  a  patchwork  of  different  patterns, 
that  you  are  bewiMered  if  you  attempt  to  make  them  out ;  but 
the  earnestness  of  his  manner,  and  a  certain  fitness  of 
character,  in  his  observations  a  kind  of  Shaksperian  pithiness, 
redeem  all  this.  Besides,  his  manifold  blunders  of  syntax  do 
not  offend  the  tar-te  of  those  audiences  where  he  is  heard  with 
the  most  approbation. 

Hobhouse  speaks  more  correctly,  but  he  lacks  in  the 
conciliatory  advantages  of  personal  appearance ;  and  his 
physiognomy,  though  indicating  considerable  strength  of  mind, 
is  not  so  prepossessing.  He  is  evidently  a  man  of  more 
education  than  his  friend,  that  is,  of  more  reading,  perhaps 
also  of  more  various  observation,  but  he  has  less  genius.  His 
tact  is  coarser,  and  though  he  speaks  with  more  vehemence, 
he  seldomer  touches  the  sensibilities  of  his  auditors.  He  may 
have  observed  mankind  in  general  more  extensively  than  Si: 
Francis,  but  he  is  far  less  acquainted  with  the  feelings  and 
associations  of  the  English  mind.  There  is  also  a  wariness 
about  him,  which  I  do  not  like  so  well  as  the  imprudent 
ingenuousness  of  the  baronet.  He  seems  to  me  to  have  a 
cause  in  hand — Hobhouse  versus  Existing  Circumstances — 
and  that  he  considers  the  multitude  as  the  jurors,  on  whose 
decision  his  advancement  m  life  depends.  But  in  this  I  may 
be  uncharitable.  I  should,  however,  think  more  highly  of  his 
sincerity  as  a  patriot,  if  his  stake  in  the  country  were  greater ; 
and  yet  I  doubt,  if  his  stake  were  greater,  if  he  is  that  sort  of 
man  who  would  have  cultivate*^  popularity  in  Westminster. 
He  seems  to  me  to  have  qualified  himself  for  Parliament  as 

282 


DISCOVERIES  AND  REBELLIONS 


others  do  for  the  bar,  and  that  he  will  probably  be  considered 
in  the  House  for  some  time  merely  as  a  political  adventurer. 
But  if  he  has  the  talent  and  prudence  requisite  to  ensure 
distinction  in  the  line  of  his  profession,  the  mediocrity  of  his 
original  condition  will  reflect  honour  on  his  success,  should  he 
hereafter  acquire  influence  and  consideration  as  a  statesman. 
Of  his  literary  talents  I  know  you  dv,  not  think  very  highly,  nor 
am  I  inclined  to  rank  the  powers  of  his  mind  much  beyond 
those  of  any  common  well-educated  English  gentleman.  But 
it  will  soon  be  ascertained  whether  his  pretensions  to  represent 
Westminster  be  justified  by  a  sense  of  ronscious  superiority, 
or  only  prompted  by  that  ambition  which  o -crlcaps  itself. 

Of  Wood,  who  was  twice  Lord  Mayor,  i  know  not  what  to 
say.  There  is  a  queer  and  wily  cast  in  his  pale  countenance, 
that  puzzles  me  exceedingly.  In  common  parlance  I  would 
call  him  an  empty  vain  creature  ;  but  when  I  look  at  that 
indescribable  spirit,  which  indicates  a  strange  and  out-of-the- 
way  manner  of  thinking,  I  humbly  confess  that  he  is  no 
common  man.  He  is  evidently  a  person  of  no  intellectual 
accomplishments  ;  he  'nas  neither  the  language  nor  the  deport- 
ment of  a  gentleman,  in  the  usual  understanding  of  the  term  ; 
and  yet  there  is  something  that  I  would  almost  call  genius 
about  him.  It  is  not  cunning,  it  is  not  wisdom,  it  is  far  from 
being  prudence,  and  yet  it  is  something  as  wary  as  prudence, 
as  eifectual  as  wisdom,  and  not  less  sinister  than  cunning.  I 
would  call  it  intuitive  skill,  a  sort  of  instinct,  by  which  he  is 
enabled  to  attain  his  ends  in  defiance  of  a  capacity  naturally 
narrow,  a  judgment  that  topples  with  vanity,  and  an  address  at 
once  mean  and  repulsive.  To  call  him  a  great  man,  in  any 
possible  approximation  of  the  word,  would  be  ridiculous  ;  that 
he  is  a  good  one,  will  be  denied  by  those  who  envy  his  success, 
or  hate  his  politics ;  but  nothing,  save  the  blindness  of  fanati- 
cism, can  call  in  question  his  possession  of  a  rare  and  singular 
species  of  ability,  let  it  be  exerted  in  what  cause  it  may. 
But  my  paper  is   full,  and    I   have  only  room  to  subscribe 


tii 


i    I 


myself,  faithfully,  yours. 


A.  Pringle. 


'  It  appears  to  us,'  said  Mr.  Snodgrass,  as  he  folded  up 
the  letter  to  return  it  to  his  pocket,  '  that  the  Londoners,  with 
all  their  advantages  of  information,  are  neither  purer  nor 
better  than  their  fellow-subjects  in  the  country.'     *As  to  their 

283 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


bettemess,'  replied  Miss  Mally,  *  I  have  a  notion  that  they  are 
far  waur ;  and  I  hope  you  do  not  think  that  earthly  knowledge 
of  any  sort  has  a  tendency  to  make  mankind,  or  womankind 
either,  any  better ;  for  was  not  Solomon,  who  had  more  of  it 
than  any  other  man,  ?  type  and  testification,  that  knowledge 
without  grace  is  but  vanity  ? '  The  young  clergyman  was 
somewhat  startled  at  this  application  of  a  remark  on  which  he 
laid  no  particular  stress,  and  was  thankful  in  his  heart  that 
Mrs.  Glibbans  was  not  present.  He  was  not  aware  that  Miss 
Mally  had  an  orthodox  com,  or  bunyan,  that  could  as  little 
bear  a  touch  from  the  royne-slippers  of  philosophy,  as  the 
inflamed  gout  of  polemical  controversy,  which  had  gumfiated 
every  mental  joint  and  member  of  that  zealous  prop  of  the 
Relief  Kirk.  This  was  indeed  the  tender  point  of  Miss  Mally's 
character ;  for  she  was  left  unplucked  on  the  stalk  of  single 
blessedness,  owing  entirely  to  a  conversation  on  this  very 
subject  with  the  only  lover  she  ever  had,  Mr.  Dalgliesh, 
formerly  helper  in  the  neighbouring  parish  of  Dintonknow. 
He  happened  incidentally  to  observe,  that  education  was 
requisite  to  promote  the  interests  of  religion.  But  Miss  Mally, 
on  that  occasion,  jocularly  maintained,  that  education  had 
only  a  tendency  to  promote  the  sale  of  books.  This,  Mr. 
Dalgliesh  thought,  was  a  sneer  at  himself,  he  having  some 
time  before  unfortunately  published  a  short  tract,  entitled, 
*  The  moral  union  of  our  temporal  and  eternal  interests  con- 
sidered, with  respect  to  the  establishment  of  parochial  semin- 
aries,' and  which  fell  still-born  from  the  press.  He  therefore 
retorted  with  some  acrimony,  until,  from  less  to  more,  Miss 
Mally  ordered  him  to  keep  his  distance ;  upon  which  he 
bounced  out  of  the  room,  and  they  were  never  afterwards  on 
speaking  terms.  Saving,  however,  and  excepting  this  par- 
ticular dogma,  Miss  Mally  was  on  all  other  topics  as  liberal 
and  beneficent  as  could  be  expected  from  a  maideii  iady, 
who  was  obliged  to  eke  out  her  stinted  income  with  a  nimble 
needle  and  a  close-clipping  economy.  The  conversation  with 
Mr.  Snodgrass  was  not,  however,  lengthened  into  acrimony ; 
for  immediately  after  the  remark  which  we  have  noticed,  she 
proposed  that  they  should  call  on  Miss  Isabella  Tod  to  see 
Rachel's  letter ;  indeed,  this  was  rendered  necessary  by  the 
state  of  the  fire,  for  after  boiling  the  kettle  she  had  allowed  it 
to  fall  low.      It  was  her  nightly  practice  after  tea  to  take  her 

284 


DISCOVERIES  AND  REBELLIONS 

evening  seam,  in  a  friendly  way,  to  some  of  her  neighbours' 
houses,  by  which  she  saved  both  coal  and  candle,  while  she 
acquired  the  news  of  the  day,  and  was  occasionally  invited  to 
stay  supper. 

On  their  arrival  at  Mrs.  Tod's,  Miss  Isabella  understood 
the  purport  of  their  visit,  and  immediately  produced  her  letter, 
receiving,  at  the  same  time,  a  perusal  of  Mr.  Andrew 
Pringle's.  Mrs.  Pringle's  to  Miss  Mally  she  had  previously 
seen. 


I-  , 


LETTER    XXIV 
Miss  Rachel  Pringle  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod 

My  dear  Bell — Since  my  last,  we  have  undergone  great 
changes  and  vicissitudes.  Last  week  we  removed  to  our 
present  house,  which  is  exceedingly  handsome  and  elegantly 
furnished  ;  and  on  Saturday  there  was  an  insurrection  of  the 
servants,  on  account  of  my  mother  not  allowing  them  to  have 
their  dinners  served  up  at  the  usual  hour  for  servants  at  other 
genteel  houses.  We  have  also  had  the  legacy  in  the  funds 
transferred  to  my  father,  and  only  now  wait  the  settling  of 
the  final  accounts,  which  will  yet  take  some  time.  On  the 
day  that  the  transfer  took  place,  my  mother  made  me  a 
present  of  a  twenty  pound  note,  to  lay  out  in  any  way  I 
thought  fit,  and  in  so  doing,  I  could  not  but  think  of  you  ;  I 
have,  therefore,  in  a  box  which  she  is  sending  to  Miss  Mally 
Glencairn,  sent  you  an  evening  dress  from  Mrs,  Bean's,  one 
of  ♦he  most  fashionable  and  tasteful  dressmakers  in  town, 
which  I  hope  you  will  wear  with  pier  lure  for  my  sake.  I 
havf  ^jot  one  exactly  like  it,  so  that  when  you  see  yourself  in 
the  C'^'  i,  you  will  behold  in  what  state  I  appeared  at  Lady 
's  route. 

Ah !  my  dear  Bell,  how  much  are  our  expectations  dis- 
appointed !  How  often  have  we,  with  admiration  and  longing 
wonder,  read  the  descriptions  in  the  newspapers  of  the  fashion- 
able parties  in  this  great  metropolis,  and  thought  of  the 
Grecian  lamps,  the  ottomans,  the  promenades,  the  ornamented 
floors,  the  cut  glass,  the  coup  (fail,  and  the  fottt  ensemble. 
*  Alas ! '  as  Young  the  poet  says,  *  the  things  unseen  do  not 
deceive  us.'     I  have  seen  more  beauty  at  an  Irvine  ball,  than 

28s 


t  I, 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

all  the  fashionable  world  could  bring  to  market  at  my  Lady 

's  emporium  for  the  disposal  of  young  ladies,  for  indeed 

I  can  consider  it  as  nothing  else. 

I  went  with  the  Argents.  The  hall  door  was  open,  and 
filled  with  the  servants  in  their  state  liveries  ;  but  although 
the  door  was  open,  the  porter,  as  each  carriage  came  up,  rung 
a  peal  upon  the  knocker,  to  announce  to  all  the  square  the 
successive  arrival  of  the  guests.  We  were  shown  upstairs  to 
the  drawing-rooms.  They  were  very  well,  but  neither  so 
grand  nor  so  great  as  I  expected.  As  for  the  company,  it 
was  a  suffocating  crowd  of  fat  elderly  gentlewomen,  and  misses 
that  stood  in  need  of  all  the  charms  of  their  fortunes.  One 
thing  I  could  notice — for  the  press  :vas  so  great,  little  could 
be  seen — it  was,  that  the  old  ladies  wore  rouge.  The  white 
satin  sleeve  of  my  dress  was  entirely  ruined  by  coming  in 
contact  with  a  little  round,  dumpling  duchess's  cheek — as 
vulgar  a  body  as  could  well  be.  She  seemed  to  me  to  have 
spent  all  her  days  behind  a  counter,  smirking  thankfulness  to 
bawbee  customers. 

When  we  had  been  shown  in  the  drawing-rooms  to  the 
men  for  some  time,  we  then  adjourned  to  the  lower  apart- 
ments, where  the  refreshments  were  set  out.  This,  I  suppose, 
is  arranged  to  afford  an  opportunity  to  the  beaux  to  be  civil 
to  the  belles,  and  thereby  to  scrape  acquaintance  with  those 
whom  they  approve,  by  assisting  them  to  the  delicacies. 
Altogether,  it  was  a  very  dull  well-dressed  affair,  and  yet  I 
ought  to  have  been  in  good  spirits,  for  Sir  Marmaduke 
Towler,  a  great  Yorkshire  baronet,  was  most  particular  in  his 
attentions  to  me ;  indeed  so  much  so,  that  I  saw  it  made  poor 
Sabre  very  uneasy.  I  do  not  know  why  it  should,  for  I  have 
given  him  no  positive  encouragement  to  hope  for  anything ; 
not  that  I  have  the  least  idea  that  the  baronet's  attentions 
were  more  than  commonplace  politeness,  but  he  has  since 
called.  I  cannot,  however,  say  that  my  vanity  is  at  all 
flattered  by  this  circumstance.  At  the  same  time,  there  surely 
could  be  no  harm  in  Sir  Marmaduke  making  me  an  offer,  for 
you  know  I  am  not  bound  to  accept  it.  Besides,  my  father 
does  not  like  him,  and  my  mother  thinks  he's  a  fortune-hunter ; 
but  I  cannot  conceive  how  that  may  be,  for,  on  the  contrary, 
he  is  said  to  be  rather  extravagant. 

Before  we  return  to  Scotland,  it  is  intended  that  we  shall 

286 


M  :'     I    I    '  ■     I   '   I 


C£.g>rT**J-. 


'' Sir  Marviaduke  Toiuier.' 
Copyright  189s  by  Macmillan  &■  Co. 


-■   „ 

'   !  ■ 

:    i 

,  '1 

\ 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

visit  some  of  the  watering-places  ;  and,  perhaps,  if  Andrew  can 
manage  it  with  my  father,  we  may  even  take  a  trip  to  Paris. 
The  Doctor  himself  is  not  averse  to  it,  but  my  mother  is  afraid 
that  a  new  war  may  break  out,  and  that  we  may  be  detained 
prisoners.  This  fantastical  fear  we  shall,  however,  try  to 
overcome.  But  I  am  interrupted.  Sir  Marmaduke  is  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  I  am  summoned. — Yours  truly, 

Rachel  Pringle. 

When  Mr.  Snodgrass  had  read  this  letter,  he  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said  dryly,  in  handing  it  to  Miss  Isabella, 
*  Miss  Pringle  is  improving  in  the  ways  of  the  world.' 

The  evening  by  this  time  was  far  advanced,  and  the  young 
clergyman  was  not  desirous  to  rene^''  the  conversation  ;  he 
therefore  almost  immediately  took  his  leave,  and  walked 
sedately  towards  Garnock,  debating  with  himself  as  he  went 
along,  whether  Dr.  Pringle's  family  were  likely  to  be  benefited 
by  their  legacy.  But  he  had  scarcely  passed  the  minister's 
carse,  when  he  met  with  Mrs.  Glibbans  returning.  '  Mr. 
Snodgrass  !  Mr.  Snodgrass  ! '  cried  that  ardent  matron  from 
her  side  of  the  road  to  the  other  where  he  was  walking,  and 
he  obeyed  her  call  ;  '  yon's  no  sic  a  black  story  as  I  thought. 
Mrs.  Craig  is  to  be  sure  far  gane,  but  they  were  married  in 
December  ;  and  it  was  only  because  she  was  his  servan'  lass 
that  the  worthy  man  didna  like  to  own  her  at  first  for  his  wife. 
It  would  have  been  dreadful  haa  the  matter  been  jealoused  at 
the  first.  She  gaed  to  Glasgow  to  see  an  auntie  that  she  has 
there,  and  he  gaed  in  to  fetch  her  out,  and  it  was  then  the 
marriage  was  made  up,  which  I  was  glad  to  hear ;  for,  oh,  Mr. 
Snodgrass,  it  would  have  been  an  awfu'  judgment  had  a  man 
like  Mr.  Craig  tum't  out  no  better  than  a  Tam  Pain  or  a 
Major  Weir.  But  a's  for  the  best ;  and  Him  that  has  the 
power  of  salvation  can  blot  out  all  our  iniquities.  So  good- 
night— ye'U  have  a  lang  walk.' 


288 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   queen's   trial 


As  the  spring  advanced,  the  beauty  of  the  country  around 
Garnock  was  gradually  unfolded  ;  the  blossom  was  unclosed, 
while  the  church  was  embraced  within  the  foliage  of  more 
umbrageous  boughs.  The  schoolboys  from  the  adjacent 
villages  were,  on  the  Saturday  afternoons,  frequently  seen 
angling  along  the  banks  of  the  Lugton,  which  ran  clearer 
beneath  the  churchyard  wall,  and  the  hedge  of  the  minister's 
glebe ;  and  the  evenings  were  so  much  lengthened,  that  the 
occasional  visitors  at  the  manse  could  prolong  their  walk  after 
tea.  These,  however,  were  less  numerous  than  when  the 
family  were  at  home ;  but  still  Mr.  Snodgrass,  when  the 
weather  w.^s  fine,  had  no  reason  to  deplore  the  loneliness  of 
his  bachelor's  court. 

!t  happened  that,  one  fair  and  sunny  afternoon.  Miss  Mally 
Glencairn  and  Miss  Isabella  Tod  came  to  the  manse.  Mrs. 
Glibbans  and  her  daughter  Becky  were  the  same  day  paying 
their  first  ceremonious  visit,  as  the  matron  called  it,  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Craig,  with  whom  the  whole  party  were  invited  to  take 
tea ;  and,  for  lack  of  more  amusing  chit-chat,  the  Reverend 
young  gentienian  read  to  them  the  last  letter  which  he  had 
received  from  Mr.  Andrew  Pringle.  It  was  conjured  naturally 
enough  out  of  his  pocket,  by  an  observation  of  Miss  Mally's 
'Nothing  surprises  me,'  said  that  amiable  maiden  lady,  'so 
much  as  the  health  and  good-humour  of  the  commonality.  It 
is  a  joyous  refutation  of  the  opinion,  that  the  comfort  and 
happiness  of  this  life  depends  on  the  wealth  of  worldly 
possessions.' 

*  It  is  so,'  replied  Mr.  Snodgrass,  '  and  I  do  often  wonder, 
U  289 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


I 


when  I  see  the  blithe  and  hearty  children  of  the  cottars,  frolick- 
ing in  the  abundance  of  health  and  hilarity,  where  the  means 
come  from  to  enable  their  poor  industrious  parents  to  supply 
their  wants.' 

'  How  can  you  wonder  at  ony  sit  things,  Mr.  Snodgrass  ? 
Do  they  not  come  from  on  high,*  said  Mrs.  Glibbans,  'whence 
Cometh  every  good  and  perfect  gift  ?  Is  there  not  the  flowers 
of  the  field,  which  neither  card  nor  spin,  and  yet  Solomon,  in  all 
his  glory,  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these  ? ' 

' !  was  not  speaking  in  a  spiritual  sense,'  interrupted  the 
other,  '  but  merely  made  the  remark,  as  introductory  to  a  letter 
which  I  have  received  from  Mr.  Andrew  Pringle,  respecting 
some  of  the  ways  of  living  in  London.' 

Mrs.  Craig,  who  had  been  so  recently  translated  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  parlour,  pricked  up  her  ears  at  this,  not  doubting 
that  the  letter  would  contain  something  very  grand  and 
wonderful,  and  exclaimed,  '  Gude  safe's,  let's  hear't — I'm  unco 
fond  to  ken  about  London,  and  the  king  and  the  queen  ;  but 
I  believe  they  are  baith  dead  noo.' 

Miss  Becky  Glibbans  gave  a  satirical  keckle  at  this,  and 
showed  her  superior  learning,  by  explaining  to  Mrs.  Craig  the 
unbroken  nature  of  the  kingly  office.  Mr.  Snodgrass  then 
read  as  follows  : — 

LETTER  XXV 

Andrew  Pringle,  Esq.,  to  the  Rev.  Charles  Snodgrass 

My  dear  Friend — You  are  not  aware  of  the  task  you 
impose,  when  you  request  me  to  send  you  some  account  of  the 
general  way  of  living  in  London.  Unless  you  come  here,  and 
actually  experience  yourself  what  I  would  call  the  London  ache, 
it  is  impossible  to  supply  you  with  any  adequate  idea  of  the 
necessity  that  exists  in  this  wilderness  of  mankind,  to  seek 
refuge  in  society,  without  being  over  fastidious  with  respect  to 
the  intellectual  qualifications  of  your  occasional  associates. 
In  a  remote  desart,  the  solitary  traveller  is  subject  to  appre- 
hensions of  danger ;  but  still  he  is  the  most  important  thing 
'  within  the  circle  of  that  lonely  waste ' ;  and  the  sense  of  his 
own  dignity  enables  him  to  sustain  the  shock  of  considerable 
hazard  with  spirit  and  fortitude.     But,  in  London,  the  feeling 

290 


THE  QUEEN'S  TRIAL 

of  self-importance  is  totally  lost  and  suppressed  in  the  bosom 
of  a  stranger.  A  painful  conviction  of  insignificance — of 
nothingness,  I  may  say — is  sunk  upon  his  heart,  and  murmured 
in  his  ear  by  the  million,  who  divide  with  him  that  consequence 
which  he  unconsciously  before  supposea  he  possessed  in  a 
general  estimate  of  the  world.  While  elbowing  my  way 
through  the  unknown  multitude  that  flows  between  Charing 
Cross  and  the  Royal  Exchange,  this  mortifying  sense  of  my 
own  insignificance  has  often  come  upon  me  with  the  energy 
of  a  pang ;  and  I  have  thought,  that,  after  all  we  can  say  of 
any  man,  the  effect  of  the  greatest  influence  of  an  individual 
on  society  at  large,  is  but  as  that  of  a  pebble  thrown  into  the 
sea.  Mathematically  speaking,  the  undulations  which  the 
pebble  causes,  continue  until  the  whole  mass  of  the  ocean  has 
been  disturbed  to  the  bottom  of  its  most  secret  depths  and 
farthest  shores ;  and,  perhaps,  with  equal  truth  it  may  be 
affirmed,  that  the  sentiments  of  the  man  of  genius  are  also 
infinitely  propagated  ;  but  how  soon  is  the  physical  impression 
of  the  one  lost  to  every  sensible  perception,  and  the  moral 
impulse  of  the  other  swallowed  up  from  all  practical  effect. 

But  though  London,  in  the  general,  may  be  justly  compared 
to  the  vast  and  restless  ocean,  or  to  any  other  thing  that  is 
either  sublime,  incomprehensible,  or  affecting,  it  loses  all  its 
influence  over  the  solemn  associations  of  the  mind  when  it  is 
examined  in  its  details.  For  example,  living  on  the  town,  as 
it  is  slangishly  called,  the  most  friendless  and  isolated  condition 
possible,  is  yet  fraught  with  an  amazing  diversity  of  enjoyment. 
Thousands  of  gentlemen,  who  have  survived  the  relish  of  active 
fashionable  pursuits,  pass  their  life  in  that  state  without  tasting 
the  delight  of  one  new  sensation.  They  rise  in  the  morning 
merely  because  Nature  will  not  allow  them  to  remain  longer 
in  bed.  They  begin  the  day  without  motive  or  purpose,  and 
close  it  after  having  performed  the  same  unvaried  round  as 
the  most  thoroughbred  domestic  animal  that  ever  dwelt  in 
manse  or  manor-house.  If  you  ask  them  at  three  o'clock 
where  they  are  to  dine,  they  cannot  tell  you ;  but  about  the 
wonted  dinner-hour,  batches  of  these  forlorn  bachelors  find 
themselves  diurnally  congregated,  as  if  by  instinct,  around  a 
cozy  table  in  some  snug  coffee-house,  where,  after  inspecting 
the  contents  of  the  bill  of  fare,  they  discuss  the  news  of  the 
day,  reserving  the  scandal,  by  way  of  dessert,  for  their  wine. 

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Day  after  day  their  respective  political  opinions  give  rise  to 
keen  encounters,  but  without  producing  the  slightest  shade  of 
change  in  any  of  fhcir  old  ingrained  and  particular  sentiments. 

Some  of  their  haunts,  I  mean  those  frequented  by  the 
elderly  race,  are  shabby  enough  in  their  appearance  and 
circumstances,  except  perhaps  in  the  quality  of  the  wine. 
Everything  in  them  is  regulated  by  an  ancient  and  precise 
economy,  and  you  perceive,  at  the  first  glance,  that  all  is 
calculated  on  the  principle  of  the  house  giving  as  much  for 
the  money  as  it  can  possibly  afford,  without  infringing  those 
little  etiquettes  which  persons  of  gentlemanly  habits  regard  as 
essentials.  At  half  price  the  junior  members  of  these  un- 
organised or  natural  clubs  retire  to  the  theatres,  while  the 
elder  brethren  mend  their  potations  till  it  is  time  to  go  home. 
This  seems  a  very  comfortless  way  of  life,  but  I  have  no  doubt 
it  is  the  preferred  result  of  a  long  experience  of  the  world,  and 
that  the  parties,  upon  the  whole,  find  it  superior,  accoiding  to 
their  early  formed  habits  of  dissipation  and  gaiety,  to  the  sedate 
but  not  more  regular  course  pf  a  domestic  circle. 

The  chief  pleasure,  however,  of  living  on  the  town,  consists 
in  accidentally  falling  in  with  persons  whom  it  might  be  other- 
wise difficult  to  meet  in  private  life.  I  have  several  times 
enjoyed  this.  The  other  day  I  fell  in  with  an  old  gentleman, 
evidently  a  man  of  some  consequence,  for  he  came  to  the 
coffee-house  in  his  own  carriage.  It  happened  that  we  were 
the  only  guests,  and  he  proposed  that  we  should  therefore 
dine  together.  In  the  course  of  conversation  it  came  out, 
that  he  had  been  familiarly  acquainted  with  Garrick,  and  had 
frequented  the  Literary  Club  in  the  days  of  Johnson  and  Gold- 
smith. In  his  youth,  I  conceive,  he  must  have  been  an 
amusing  companion ;  for  his  fancy  was  exceedingly  lively, 
and  his  manners  altogether  afforded  a  very  favourable  specimen 
of  the  old,  the  gentlemanly  school.  At  an  appointed  hour 
his  carriage  came  for  him,  and  we  parted,  perhaps  never  to 
meet  again. 

Such  agreeable  incidents,  however,  are  not  common,  as 
the  frequenters  of  the  coffee-houses  are,  I  think,  usually  taciturn 
characters,  and  averse  to  conversation.  I  may,  however,  be 
myself  in  fault.  Our  countrymen  in  general,  whatever  may 
be  their  address  in  improving  acquaintance  to  the  promotion 
of  their  own  interests,   have  not  the  best  way,   in  the  first 

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instance,  of  introducing  themselves.  A  raw  Scotchman,  con- 
trasted with  a  sharp  Londoner,  is  very  inadroit  and  awkward, 
be  his  talents  what  they  may  ;  and  I  suspect,  that  even  the 
most  brilliant  of  your  old  class-fellows  have,  in  their  professional 
visits  to  this  metropolis,  had  some  experience  of  what  I  mean. 

Andrew  Pringle. 


' 


When  Mr.  Snodgrass  paused,  and  was  foldu.^f  up  the 
letter,  Mrs.  Craig,  bending  with  her  hands  on  her  knees,  said, 
emphatically,  'Noo,  sir,  what  think  you  of  that?'  He  was 
not,  however,  quite  prepared  to  give  an  answer  to  a  question 
so  abruptly  propounded,  nor  indeed  did  he  exactly  understand 
to  what  particular  the  lady  referred.  '  For  my  part,'  she 
resumed,  recovering  her  previous  posture — 'for  my  part,  it's 
a  very  caldrife  way  of  life  to  dine  every  day  on  coffee  ;  broth 
and  beef  would  put  mair  smeddum  in  the  men  ;  they're  just 
a  whin  auld  fogies  that  Mr.  Andrew  describes,  an'  no  wurth 
a  single  woman's  pains.'  'Wheesht,  wheesht,  mistress,'  cried 
Mr.  Craig ;  *  ye  mauna  let  your  tongue  rin  awa  with  your 
sense  in  that  gait.'  '  It  has  but  a  light  load,'  said  Miss  Becky, 
whispering  Isabella  Tod.  In  this  juncture,  Mr.  Micklewham 
happened  to  come  in,  and  Mrs.  Craig,  on  seeing  him,  cried 
out,  '  I  hope,  Mr.  Micklewham,  ye  have  brought  the  Doctor's 
letter.  He's  such  a  funny  man  !  and  touches  off  the  Londoners 
to  the  nines.' 

*  He's  a  good  man,'  said  Mrs.  Glibbans,  in  a  tone  calculated 
to  repress  the  forwardness  of  Mrs.  Craig ;  but  Miss  Mally 
Glencairn  having,  in  the  meanwhile,  taken  from  her  pocket 
an  epistle  which  she  had  received  the  preceding  day  from 
Mrs.  Pringle,  Mr.  Snodgrass  silenced  all  controversy  on  that 
score  by  requesting  her  to  proceed  with  the  reading.  *  She's 
a  clever  woman,  Mrs.  Pringle,'  said  Mrs.  Craig,  who  was 
resolved  to  cut  a  figure  in  the  conversation  in  her  own  house. 
'  She's  a  discreet  woman,  and  may  be  as  godly,  too,  as  some 
that  make  mair  wark  about  the  elect.'  Whether  Mrs.  Glibbans 
thought  this  had  any  allusion  to  herself  is  not  susceptible  of 
legal  proof ;  but  she  turned  round  and  looked  at  their  '  most 
kind  hostess '  with  a  sneer  that  might  almost  merit  the  appella- 
tion of  a  snort.  Mrs.  Craig,  however,  pacified  her,  by  pro- 
posing, 'that,  before  hearing  the  letter,  they  should  take  a 
dram  of  wine,  or   pree   her   cherry  bounce' — adding,    'our 

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maister  likes  .1  been  house,  and  ye  a'  ken  that  we  arc  providing 
for  a  handling.'  The  wine  was  accordingly  served,  and,  in 
due  time,  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  edified  and  instructed  the 
party  with  the  contents  of  Mrs.  I'ringlc's  letter. 


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LETTER  XXVI 


Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Mally  Glencairn 

Dear  Miss  Mally — You  will  have  heard,  by  the  peppers, 
of  the  gret  hobbleshow  heer  aboot  the  queen's  coming  over 
contrary  to  the  will  of  the  nation  ;  and,  that  the  king  and 
parlement  are  so  angry  with  her,  that  they  are  going  to  put 
her  away  by  giving  to  her  a  bill  of  divorce.  The  Doctor,  who 
has  been  searchin  the  Scriptures  on  the  okashon,  says  this  is 
not  in  their  poor,  although  she  was  found  guilty  of  the  fact ; 
but  I  tell  him,  that  as  the  king  and  parlement  of  old  took 
upon  them  to  change  our  religion,  I  do  not  see  how  they 
will  be  hampered  now  by  the  word  of  God. 

You  may  well  wonder  that  I  have  no  ritten  to  you  about 
tiie  king,  and  what  he  is  like,  but  we  have  never  got  a  sight 
of  him  at  all,  whilk  is  a  gret  shame,  paying  so  dear  as  we  do 
for  a  king,  who  shurely  should  be  a  publik  man,  lUit,  we 
have  seen  her  majesty,  who  stays  not  far  from  our  house  hcer 
in  Baker  Street,  in  dry  lodgings,  which,  I  am  creditably 
infonned,  she  is  obligated  to  pay  for  by  the  week,  for  nobody 
will  trust  her ;  so  you  see  what  it  is,  Miss  Mally,  to  have  a 
light  character.  Poor  woman,  they  say  she  might  have  been 
going  from  door  to  door,  with  a  staff  and  a  meal  pock,  but 
for  ane  Mr.  Wood,  who  is  a  baillie  of  London,  that  has  ta'en 
her  by  the  hand.  She's  a  woman  advanced  in  life,  with  a 
short  neck,  and  a  pentit  face  ;  housomever,  that,  I  suppose, 
she  canno  help,  being  a  queen,  and  obligated  to  set  the 
fashons  to  the  court,  where  it  is  necessar  to  hide  their  faces 
with  pent,  our  Andrew  says,  that  their  looks  may  not  betray 
them — there  being  no  shurer  thing  than  a  false-hearted  courtier. 

But  what  concerns  me  the  most,  in  all  this,  is,  that  there 
will  be  no  coronashon  till  the  queen  is  put  out  of  the  way — 
and  nobody  can  take  upon  them  to  say  when  that  will  be,  as 
the  law  is  so  dootful  and  endless — which  I  am  verra  sorry  for, 

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as  it  was  my  intent  to  rite  Miss  Nanny  Eydent  a  true  account 
of  the  coronashon,  in  case  ihere  had  been  any  partiklars  that 
might  be  servisable  to  her  in  her  bisness. 

The  Doctor  and  me,  by  ourselves,  since  we  have  been  settlt, 
go  about  at  our  convenience,  and  have  seen  far  mae  farhes 
than  baith  Andrew  and  Rachel,  with  all  the  acquaintance  they 
have  forgathert  with — but  you  no  old  heeds  canno  be  expectit 
on  young  shouthers,  and  Ihey  have  not  had  the  experience  of 
the  world  that  we  have  had. 

The  lamps  in  the  streets  here  are  lighted  with  gauze,  and 
not  with  crusies,  like  those  that  have  lately  been  put  up  in 
your  toun  ;  and  it  is  brought  in  pips  aneath  the  ground  trom 
the  manufactors,  which  the  Doctor  and  me  have  been  to  see — 
an  awful  place — and  they  say  as  fey  to  a  spark  as  poother, 
which  made  us  glad  to  get  out  o't  when  we  heard  so  ; — and 
we  have  been  to  see  a  brew-house,  where  they  mak  the  London 
porter,  but  it  is  a  sight  not  to  be  told.  In  it  we  saw  a  barrel, 
whilk  the  Doctor  sai*^!  was  \jy  gaugng  bigger  than  the  Lvine 
muckle  kirk,  and  a  masking  fat,  like  a  ba^n  for  mugnited. 
But  all  thae  were  as  nothing  to  a  curiosity  of  a  steam-ingine, 
that  minches  niinch  collops  as  natural  as  i"fe — and  stuffs  the 
sosogees  itself,  in  a  manner  past  the  poor  of  nature  to  consiv. 
They  have,  to  be  shure,  in  London,  many  things  to  help  work 
— for  in  oui  kitchen  there  is  a  smoking -jack  to  roast  the 
meat,  that  gan;xs  of  its  oun  free  will,  and  the  brisker  the  fire, 
the  faster  it  runs  ;  but  a  potatoe-oeetle  is  not  to  be  had  within 
the  four  walls  of  j^ondon,  which  is  a  great  want  in  a  house  ; 
Mrs.  Argent  never  hard  of  sic  a  thing. 

Me  and  the  Doctor  have  likewise  been  in  the  Houses  of 
Parliame  It,  and  the  Doctor  since  has  been  again  to  heer  the 
argol-bar^oling  aboo  the  queen.  But,  cepting  the  king's 
throne,  which  is  all  gold  and  velvet,  with  a  croun  on  the  top. 
and  stars  all  round,  there  was  nothing  worth  the  looking  at 
in  them  baith.  Hov.somever,  I  sat  in  the  king's  seat,  and 
in  the  preses  chair  of  the  House  of  Commons,  which,  you 
no,  is  something  for  me  to  say ;  and  we  have  been  to  see 
the  printing  of  books,  wht^e  the  very  smallest  dividual  syUib 
is  taken  up  by  itself  and  made  into  words  by  the  hand,  so 
as  to  be  quite  confounding  how  it  could  ever  read  sense. 
But  there  is  ane  piece  of  industry  and  froughgalaty  I  should 
not  forget,   whilk   is  wives  going  about  with   whirl -barrows, 

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selling  horses'  flesh  to  the  cats  and  dogs  by  weight,  and  the 
cats  and  dogs  know  them  very  well  by  their  voices.  In  short, 
Miss  Mally,  there  is  nothing  heer  that  the  hand  is  not  tumt 
to  ;  and  there  is,  I  can  see,  a  better  order  and  method  really 
among  the  Londoners  than  among  our  Scotch  folks,  notwith- 
standing their  advantages  of  edicashion,  but  my  pepper  will 
hold  no  more  at  present,  from  your  true  friend, 

Janet  Pringle. 

There  was  a  considerable  diversity  of  opinion  among  the 
commentators  on  this  epistle.  Mrs.  Craig  was  the  first  who 
broke  silence,  and  displayed  a  great  deal  of  erudition  on  the 
minch-coUop-engine,  and  the  potatoe-beetle,  in  which  she  was 
interrupted  by  the  indignant  Mrs.  Glibbans,  who  exclaimed, 
'  I  am  surprised  to  hear  you,  Mrs.  Craig,  speak  of  sic  baubles, 
when  the  word  of  God's  in  danger  of  being  controverted  by  an 
Act  of  Parliament.  But,  Mr.  Snodgrass,  dinna  ye  think  that 
this  painting  of  the  queen's  face  is  a  Jezebitical  testification 
against  her  ? '  Mr.  Snodgrass  replied,  with  an  unwonted 
sobriety  of  manner,  and  with  an  emphasis  that  showed  he 
intended  to  make  some  impression  on  his  auditors — '  It  is 
impossible  to  judge  correctly  of  strangers  by  measuring  them 
according  to  our  own  notions  of  propriety.  It  has  certainly 
long  been  a  practice  in  courts  to  disfigure  the  beauty  of  the 
human  countenance  with  paint ;  but  what,  in  itself,  may  have 
been  originally  assumed  for  a  mask  or  r^isguise,  may,  by  usage, 
have  grown  into  a  very  harmless  custom.  I  am  not .  therefore, 
disposed  to  attach  any  criminal  importance  tJ  the  cucumstance 
of  her  majesty  wearing  paint.  Her  late  majesty  did  so  her- 
self.' '  I  do  not  3ay  it  was  criminal,'  said  Mrs.  Glibbans  ;  '  I 
only  meant  it  was  sinful,  ond  I  think  it  is.'  The  accent  of 
authority  in  which  this  was  said,  prevented  Mr.  Snodgrass 
from  oflfering  any  reply ;  av.d,  a  brief  pause  ensuing,  Miss 
Molly  Glencairn  observed,  that  it  was  a  surprising  thing  how 
the  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Pringle  managed  their  matters  so  well. 
'Ay,'  said  Mrs.  Craig,  'but  we  a'  ken  what  a  manager  the 
mistress  is — she's  the  bee  that  mak's  the  hiney — she  does  not 
gang  bizzing  aboot,  like  a  thriftless  wasp,  through  her  neigh- 
bours' houses.'  '  I  tell  you,  Betty,  my  dear/  cried  Mr.  Craig, 
♦  that  you  shouldna  make  comparison."- — what's  past  is  gane — 
and  Mrs.  Glibbans  and  you  maun  now  be  friends.'     '  They're 

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a'  friends  to  me  that's  no  faes,  and  am  very  glad  to  see  Mrs. 
Glibbans  sociable  in  my  house  ■  but  she  needna  hae  made  sae 
light  of  me  when  she  was  he  e  before.'  And,  in  saying  this, 
the  amiable  hostess  burst  into  a  loud  sob  of  sorrow,  which 
induced  Mr.  Snodgrass  to  beg  Mr.  Micklewham  to  read  the 
Doctor's  letter,  by  which  a  happy  stop  was  put  to  the  further 
manifestation  of  the  grudge  which  Mrs.  Craig  harboured 
against  Mrs.  Glibbans  for  the  lecture  she  had  received,  on 
what  the  latter  called  '  the  incarnated  effect  of  a  more  than 
Potipharian  claught  o'  the  godly  Mr.  Craig.' 


LETTER  XXVII 

TAe  Rev.  Z.  Pringle,  D.D.^  to  Mr.  Micklewham^  Schoolmaster 
and  Session-Clerk  of  Gamock 

Dear  Sir — I  had  a  great  satisfaction  in  hearing  that  Mr. 
Snodgrass,  in  my  place,  prays  for  the  queen  on  the  Lord's 
Day,  which  liberty,  to  do  in  our  national  church,  is  a  thing  to 
be  upholden  with  a  fearless  spirit,  even  with  the  spirit  of 
martyrdom,  that  we  may  not  bow  down  in  Scotland  to  the 
prelatic  Baal  of  an  order  in  Council,  whereof  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  that  is  cousin-german  to  the  Pope  of  Rome,  is 
art  and  part.  Verily,  the  sending  forth  of  that  order  to  the 
General  Assembly  was  treachery  to  the  solemn  oath  of  the 
new  king,  whereby  he  took  the  vows  upon  him,  confonn  to  the 
Articles  of  the  Union,  to  maintain  the  Church  of  Scotland  as 
by  law  established,  so  that  for  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
to  meddle  therein  was  a  shooting  out  of  the  horns  of  aggressive 
domination. 

I  think  it  is  right  of  me  to  testify  thus  much,  through  you, 
to  the  Session,  that  the  elders  may  stand  on  their  posts  to  bar 
all  such  breaking  in  of  the  Episcopalian  boar  into  our  comer 
of  the  vineyard. 

Anent  the  queen's  case  and  condition,  I  say  nothing ;  for 
be  she  guilty,  or  be  she  innocent,  we  all  know  that  she  was 
born  in  sin,  and  brought  forth  in  iniquity — prone  to  evil,  as 
the  sparks  fly  upwards — and  desperately  wicked,  like  you  and 
me,  or  any  other  poor  Christian  sinner,  which  is  reason  enough 
to  make  us  think  of  her  in  the  remembering  prayer. 

Since  she  came  over,  there  has  been  a  wonderful  work 

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doing  here ;  and  it  is  thought  that  the  crown  will  be  taken  ofif 
her  head  by  a  strong  handling  of  the  Parliament ;  and  really, 
when  I  think  of  the  bishops  sitting  high  in  the  peerage,  like 
owls  and  rooks  in  the  bartisans  of  an  old  tower,  I  have  my 
fears  that  they  can  bode  her  no  good.  I  have  seen  them  in 
the  House  of  Lords,  clothed  in  their  idolatrous  robes  ;  and 
when  I  looked  at  them  so  proudly  placed  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  king's  throne,  and  on  the  side  of  the  powerful,  egging  on, 
as  I  saw  one  of  them  doing  in  a  whisper,  the  Lord  Liverpool, 
before  he  rose  to  speak  against  the  queen,  the  blood  ran  cold 
in  my  veins,  and  I  thought  of  their  woeful  persecutions  of  our 
national  church,  and  prayed  inwardly  that  I  might  bo  keepit 
in  the  humility  of  a  zealous  presbyter,  and  that  the  corruption 
of  the  frail  human  nature  within  me  might  never  be  tempted 
by  the  pampered  whoredoms  of  prelacy. 

Saving  the  Lord  Chancellor,  all  the  other  temporal  peers 
were  just  as  they  had  come  in  from  the  crown  of  the  causeway 
— none  of  them  having  a  judicial  garment,  which  was  a  shame  ; 
and  as  for  the  Chancellor's  long  robe,  it  was  not  so  good  as 
my  own  gown  ;  but  he  is  said  to  be  a  very  narrow  man. 
What  he  spoke,  however,  was  no  doubt  sound  law  ;  yet  I  could 
observe  he  has  a  bad  custom  of  taking  the  name  of  God  in 
vain,  which  I  wonder  at,  considering  he  has  such  a  kittle  con- 
science, which,  on  less  occasions,  causes  him  often  to  shed  tears. 

Mrs.  Pringle  and  me,  by  ourselves,  had  a  fine  quiet  canny 
sight  of  the  queen,  out  of  the  window  of  a  p.i  stry  baxter's  shop, 
opposite  to  where  her  majesty  stays.  She  seems  to  be  a 
plump  and  jocose  little  woman  ;  gleg,  blithe,  and  throwgaun 
for  her  years,  and  on  an  easy  footing  with  the  lower  orders — 
coming  to  the  window  when  they  call  for  her,  and  becking  to 
them,  which  is  very  civil  of  her,  and  gets  them  to  take  her 
part  against  the  government. 

The  baxter  in  whose  shop  we  saw  this  told  us  that  her 
majesty  said,  on  being  invited  to  take  her  dinner  at  an  inn  on 
the  road  from  Dover,  that  she  would  be  content  with  a  mutton- 
chop  at  the  King's  Arms  in  London,^  which  shows  that  she  is 
a  lady  of  a  very  hamely  disposition.  Mrs.  Pringle  thought 
her  not  big  enough  for  a  queen  ;  but  we  cannot  expect  every 

^  The  honest  Doctor's  version  of  this  ion  mot  of  her  majesty  is  not  quite 
correct ;  her  expression  was,  '  I  mean  to  take  a  chop  at  the  King's  Head 
when  I  get  to  London.' 

299 


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I'll 


Ce:E?..>^k_ 


*  A  fine  quiet  canny  sight  of  the  queen^ 
Copyright  189s  by  Macmillan  Gr  Co. 


THE  QUEEN'S  TRIAL 


one  to  be  like  that  bright  occidental  star,  Queen  Elizabeth, 
whose  efifigy  we  have  seen  preserved  in  armour  in  the  Tower  of 
London,  and  in  wax  in  Westminster  Abbey,  where  they  have 
a  living-like  likeness  of  Lord  Nelson,  in  the  very  identical 
regimentals  that  he  was  killed  in.  They  are  both  wonderful 
places,  but  it  costs  a  power  of  money  to  get  through  them,  and 
all  the  folk  about  them  think  of  nothing  but  money ;  for  when 
I  inquired,  with  a  reverent  spirit,  seeing  around  me  the  tombs 
of  great  and  famous  men,  the  mighty  and  wise  of  their  day, 
what  department  it  was  of  the  Abbey — '  It's  the  eighteenpence 
department,'  said  an  uncircumcised  Philistine,  with  as  little  re- 
spect as  if  we  had  been  treading  the  courts  of  the  darling  Dagon. 

Our  concerns  here  are  now  drawing  to  a  close ;  but  before 
we  return,  we  are  going  for  a  short  time  to  a  town  on  the  sea- 
side, which  they  call  Brighton.  We  had  a  notion  of  taking  a 
trip  to  Paris,  but  that  we  must  leave  to  Andrew  Pringle,  my 
son,  and  his  sister  Rachel,  if  the  bit  lassie  could  get  a  decent 
gudeman,  which  maybe  will  cast  up  for  her  before  we  leave 
London.  Nothing,  however,  is  settled  as  yet  upon  that  head, 
so  I  can  say  no  more  at  present  anent  the  same. 

Since  the  affair  of  the  sermon,  I  have  withdrawn  myself 
from  trafficking  so  much  as  I  did  in  the  missionary  and  charit- 
able ploys  that  are  so  in  vogue  with  the  pious  here,  which  will 
be  all  the  better  for  my  own  people,  as  I  will  keep  for  them 
what  I  was  giving  to  the  unknown  ;  and  it  is  my  design  to 
write  a  book  on  almsgiving,  to  show  in  what  manner  that 
Christian  duty  may  be  best  fulfilled,  which  I  doubt  not  will 
have  the  effect  of  opening  the  eyes  of  uiany  in  London  to  the 
true  nature  of  the  thing  by  which  I  was  myself  beguiled  in  this 
Vanity  Fair,  like  a  bird  ensnared  by  the  fowler. 

I  was  concerned  to  hear  of  poor  Mr.  Witherspoon's  accident, 
in  falling  from  his  horse  in  coming  from  the  Dalmailing 
occasion.  How  thankful  he  must  be,  that  the  Lord  made  his 
head  of  a  durability  to  withstand  the  shock,  which  might  other- 
wise have  fractured  his  skull.  What  you  say  about  the 
promise  of  the  braird  gives  me  pleasure  on  account  of  the 
poor ;  but  what  will  be  done  with  the  farmers  and  their  high 
rents,  if  the  harvest  turn  out  so  abundant  ?  Great  reason  have 
I  to  be  thankful  that  the  legacy  has  put  me  out  of  the  reverence 
of  my  stipend ;  for  when  the  meal  was  cheap,  I  own  to  you 
that  I  felt  my  carnality  grudging  the  horn  of  abundance  that 

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THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

the  Lord  was  then  pouring  into  the  lap  of  the  earth.  In  short, 
Mr.  Micklevvham,  I  doubt  it  is  o'er  true  v.ith  us  all,  that  the 
less  we  are  tempted,  the  better  we  are  ;  so  with  my  sincere 
prayers  that  you  may  be  delivered  from  all  evil,  and  led  out  of 
the  paths  of  temptation,  whether  it  is  on  the  highway,  or  on 
the  footpaths,  or  beneath  the  hedges,  I  remain,  dear  sir,  your 
friend  and  pastor,  Zachariah  Pringle. 

'The  Doctor,'  said  Mrs.  Glibbans,  as  the  schoolmaster 
concluded,  *is  there  like  himself — a  true  orthodox  Christian, 
standing  up  for  the  word,  and  overflowing  with  charity  even 
for  the  sinner.  But,  Mr.  S  lodgrass,  I  did  not  ken  before  that 
the  bishops  had  a  hand  in  the  making  of  the  Acts  of  the 
Parliament ;  I  think,  Mr.  Snodgrass,  if  that  be  the  case,  there 
should  be  some  doubt  in  Scotland  about  obeying  them. 
However  that  may  be,  sure  am  I  that  the  queen,  though  she 
was  a  perfect  Deliah,  has  nothing  to  fear  from  them ;  for 
have  we  not  read  in  the  Book  of  Martyrs,  and  other  church 
histories,  of  their  concubines  and  indulgences,  in  the  papist 
times,  to  all  manner  of  carnal  iniquity  ?     But  if  she  be  that 

noghty  woman   that   they  say ' '  Gude  safe's,'  cried   Mrs. 

Craig,  *  if  she  be  a  noghty  woman,  awa'  wi'  her,  awa'  wi'  her 
— wha  kens  the  cantrips  she  may  play  us  ? ' 

Here  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  interposed,  and  informed  Mrs. 
Craig,  that  a  noghty  woman  was  not,  as  she  seemed  to  think, 
a  witch  wife.  '  I  am  sure,'  said  Miss  Becky  Glibbans,  *  that 
Mrs.  Craig  might  have  known  that.'  '  Oh,  ye're  a  spiteful 
deevil,'  whispered  Miss  Mally,  with  a  smile  to  her ;  and 
turning  in  the  same  moment  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod,  begged 
her  to  read  Miss  Pringle's  letter — a  motion  which  Mr. 
Snodgrass  seconded  chiefly  to  abridge  the  conversation,  during 
which,  though  he  wore  a  serene  countenance,  he  often  suffered 
much. 


LETTER   XXVIII 

Miss  Rachel  Pringle  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod 

My  V'iikiR.  Bell — I  am  much  obliged  by  your  kind  expres- 
sions for  my  little  present.  I  hope  soon  to  send  you  something 
better,  and  gloves  at  the  same  time ;  for  Sabre  has  been 
brought  to  the  point  by  an  alarm  for  the  Yorkshire  baronet 

302 


Q£>'^.^^ 


^  Sabre  has  been  brought  to  the  point.' 
Copyright  1895  by  Macmillan  &•  Co, 


li 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


that  I  mention  jd,  as  showing  symptoms  of  the  tender  passion 
for  my  fortune.  The  friends  on  both  sides  being  satisfied 
with  the  match,  it  will  take  place  as  soon  as  some  preliminary 
arrangements  are  made.  When  we  are  settled,  I  hope  your 
mother  will  allow  you  to  come  and  spend  some  time  with  us 
at  our  country-seat  in  Berkshire  ;  and  I  shall  be  happy  to 
repay  all  the  expenses  of  your  journey,  as  a  jaunt  to  England 
is  what  your  mother  would,  I  know,  never  consent  to  pay  for. 

It  is  proposed  that,  immediately  after  the  ceremony,  we 
shall  set  out  for  France,  accompanied  by  my  brother,  vhere 
we  are  to  be  soon  after  joined  at  Paris  by  some  of  the  Argents, 
who,  I  can  see,  think  Andrew  worth  the  catching  for  Miss. 
My  father  and  mother  will  then  return  to  Scotland ;  but 
whether  the  Doctor  will  continue  to  keep  his  parish,  or  give  it 
up  to  Mr.  Snodgrass,  will  depend  greatly  on  the  circumstances 
in  which  he  finds  his  parishioners.  This  is  all  the  domestic 
intelligence  I  have  got  to  give,  but  its  importance  will  make 
up  for  other  deficiencies. 

As  to  the  continuance  of  our  discoveries  in  London,  I 
know  not  well  what  to  say.  Every  day  brings  something  new, 
but  we  lose  the  sense  of  novelty.  Were  a  fire  in  the  same 
street  where  we  live,  it  would  no  longer  alarm  me.  A  few 
nights  ago,  as  we  were  sitting  in  the  parlour  after  supper,  the 
noise  of  an  engine  passing  startled  us  all ;  we  ran  to  the 
windows — there  was  haste  and  torches,  and  the  sound  of  other 
engines,  and  all  the  horrors  of  a  conflagration  reddening  the 
skies.  My  father  sent  out  the  footboy  to  inquire  where  it  was  ; 
and  when  the  boy  came  back,  he  made  us  lai  gh,  by  snapping 
his  fingers,  and  saying  the  fire  was  not  worlh  so  much — 
although,  upon  further  inquiry,  we  learnt  that  the  house  in 
which  it  originated  was  burnt  to  the  ground.  You  see, 
therefore,  how  the  bustle  of  this  great  world  hardens  the 
sensibilities,  but  I  trust  its  influence  will  never  extend  to  my 
heart. 

The  principal  topic  of  conversation  at  present  is  about  the 
queen.  The  Argents,  who  are  our  main  instructors  in  the 
proprieties  of  London  life,  say  that  it  would  be  very  vulgar  in 
me  to  go  to  look  at  her,  whic'i  I  am  sorry  for,  as  I  wish 
above  all  things  to  see  a  personage  so  illustrious  by  birth,  and 
renowned  by  misfortune.  The  Doctor  and  my  mother,  who 
are  less  scrupulous,  and  who,  in  consequence,  somehow,  by 

304 


THE  QUEEN'S  TRIAL 


he 
he 
in 


themselves,  contrive  to  see,  and  get  into  places  that  are 
inaccessible  to  all  gentility,  have  had  a  full  view  of  her 
majesty.  My  father  has  since  become  her  declared  partisan, 
and  my  mother  too  has  acquired  a  leaning  likewise  towards 
her  side  of  the  question  ;  but  neither  of  them  will  permit  the 
subject  to  be  spoken  of  before  me,  as  they  consider  it 
detrimental  to  good  morals.  I,  however,  read  the  news- 
papers. 

What  my  brother  thinks  of  her  majesty's  case  is  not  easy 
to  divine ;  but  Sabre  is  convinced  of  the  queen's  guilt,  upon 
some  private  and  authentic  information  which  a  friend  of  his, 
who  has  returned  from  Italy,  heard  when  travelling  in  that 
country.  This  information  he  has  not,  however,  repeated  to 
me,  so  that  it  must  be  very  bad.  We  shall  know  all  when  the 
trial  comes  on.  In  the  meantime,  his  majesty,  who  has  lived 
in  dignified  retirement  since  he  came  to  the  throne,  has  taken 
up  his  abode,  with  rural  felicity,  in  a  cottage  in  Windsor 
Forest ;  where  he  now,  contemning  all  the  pomp  and  follies  of 
his  youth,  and  this  metropolis,  passes  his  days  amidst  his 
cabbages,  like  Dioclesian,  with  innocence  and  tranquillity,  far 
from  the  intrigues  of  courtiers,  and  insensible  to  the  murmuring 
waves  of  the  fluctuating  populace,  that  set  in  with  so  strong  a 
current  towards  *  the  mob-led  queen,'  as  the  divine  Shakespeare 
has  so  beautifully  expressed  it. 

You  ask  me  about  Vauxhall  Gardens ; — I  have  not  seen 
them — they  are  no  longer  in  fashion — the  theatres  are  quite 
vu.gar — even  the  opera-house  has  sunk  into  a  second-rate 
place  of  resort.  Almack's  balls,  the  Argyle- rooms,  and  the 
Philharmonic  concerts,  are  the  only  public  entertainments 
frequented  by  people  of  fashion  ;  and  this  high  superiority 
they  owe  entirely  to  the  difficulty  of  gaining  admission. 
London,  as  my  brother  says,  is  too  rich,  and  grown  too 
luxurious,  to  have  any  exclusive  place  of  fashionable  resort, 
where  price  alone  is  the  obstacle.  Hence,  the  institut.on 
of  these  select  aristocratic  assemblies.  The  Philharmonic 
concerts,  however,  are  rather  professional  than  fashionable 
entertainments ;  but  everybody  is  fond  of  music,  and,  there- 
fore, everybody,  that  can  be  called  anybody,  is  anxious  to  get 
tickets  to  them ;  and  this  anxiety  has  given  them  a  degree  of 
iclat^  which  I  am  persuaded  the  performance  would  never 
have  excited  had  the  tickets  been  purchasable  at  any  price. 

X  305 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


The  great  thing  here  is,  cither  to  be  somebody,  or  to  be 
patronised  by  a  |)erson  that  is  a  somebody ;  without  this, 
though  you  were  as  rich  as  Crccsus,  your  golden  chariots,  hke 
the  comets  of  a  season,  blazing  and  amazing,  would  speedily 
roll  away  into  the  obscurity  from  whirh  they  came,  and  be 
remembered  no  more. 

At  first  when  we  came  here,  and  when  the  amount  of  our 
legacy  was  first  promulgated,  we  were  in  a  terrible  flutter. 
Andrew  became  a  man  of  fashion,  with  all  the  haste  that 
tailors,  and  horses,  and  dinners,  could  make  him.  My  father, 
honest  man,  was  equally  inspired  with  lofty  ideas,  and  began 
a  career  that  promised  a  liberal  benefaction  of  good  things  to 
the  poor — and  my  mother  was  almost  distracted  with  calcula- 
tions about  laying  out  the  money  to  the  best  advantage,  and 
the  sum  she  would  allow  to  be  spent.  I  alone  preserved  my 
natural  equanimity ;  and  foreseeing  the  necessity  of  new 
accomplishments  to  suit  my  altered  circumstances,  applied 
myself  to  the  instructions  of  my  masters,  with  an  assiduity  that 
won  their  applause.  The  advantages  of  this  I  now  experience 
— my  brother  is  sobered  from  his  champaign  fumes — my 
father  has  found  out  that  charity  begins  at  home — and  my 
mother,  though  her  establishment  is  enlarged,  finds  her 
happiness,  notwithstanding  the  legacy,  still  lies  within  the 
little  circle  of  her  household  cares.  Thus,  my  dear  Bell,  have 
I  proved  the  sweets  of  a  true  philosophy ;  and,  unseduced  by 
the  blandishments  of  rank,  rejected  Sir  Marmaduke  Towler, 
and  accepted  the  humbler  but  more  disinterested  swain. 
Captain  Sabre,  who  requests  me  to  send  you  his  compliments, 
not  altogether  content  that  you  should  occupy  so  much  of  the 
bosom  of  your  affectionate  Rachel  Pringle. 

'  Rachel  had  ay  a  gude  roose  of  hersel',*  said  Becky 
Glibbans,  as  Miss  Isabella  concluded.  In  the  same  moment, 
Mr.  Snodgrass  took  his  leave,  saying  to  Mr.  Micklewham, 
that  he  had  something  particular  to  mention  to  him.  '  What 
can  it  be  about  ? '  inquired  Mrs.  Glibbans  at  Mr.  Craig,  as 
soon  as  the  helper  and  schoolmaster  had  left  the  room  :  '  Do 
you  think  it  can  be  concerning  the  Doctor's  resignation  of  the 
parish  in  his  favour?'  'I'm  sure,'  interposed  Mrs.  Craig, 
before  her  husband  could  reply,  '  it  winna  be  wi'  my  gudewill 
that  he  shall  come  in  upon  us — a  pridefu'  wight,  whose  saft 

306 


*  Andrew  became  a  man  of  fashion.' 
Cofyrisht  1895  by  Macmillan  Cr  Co. 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

words,  and  a'  his  politeness,  are  but  lip-deep ;  na,  na,  Mrs. 
Glibbans,  we  maun  hae  another  on  the  lect  forbye  him.' 

'  And  wha  would  yc  put  on  the  Icct  noo,  Mrs.  Craig,  you 
that's  sic  a  jucIkc  ?'  said  Mrs.  CJlibbans,  with  the  most  ineffable 
consequentiality. 

'  I'll  be  for  young  Mr.  Dirlton,  who  is  bailh  a  sappy 
preacher  of  the  word,  and  a  substantial  hand  at  every  kind  of 
civility.' 

*  Young  Dirlton  I — young  Deevilton  ! '  cried  the  orthodox 
Deborah  of  Irvine  ;  'a  fallow  that  knows  no  more  of  a  gospel 
dispensation  than  I  do  of  the  Arian  heresy,  which  I  hold  in 
utter  abomination.  No,  Mrs.  Craig,  you  have  a  godly  man 
for  your  husband — a  sound  and  true  follower  ;  tread  ye  in  his 
footsteps,  and  no  try  to  set  vip  yoursel'  on  points  of  doctrine. 
But  it's  time.  Miss  Mally,  that  we  were  taking  the  road  ; 
Becky  and  Miss  Isabella,  make  yourselves  ready.  Noo,  Mrs. 
Craig,  ye'll  no  be  a  stranger ;  you  see  I  have  no  been  lang  of 
coming  to  give  you  my  countenance  ;  but,  my  leddy,  ca'  canny, 
it's  no  easy  to  carry  a  fu'  cup ;  ye  hae  gotten  a  great  gift  in 
your  gudeman.  Mr.  Craig,  I  wish  you  a  good-night  ;  I  would 
fain  have  stopped  for  your  evening  exercise,  but  Miss  Mally 
was  beginning,  I  saw,  to  weary — so  good-night ;  and,  Mrs. 
Craig,  ye'll  take  tent  of  what  I  have  said — it's  for  your  gude.' 
So  exeunt  Mrs.  Glibbans,  Miss  Mally,  and  the  two  young 
ladies.  '  Her  bark's  waur  than  her  bite,'  said  Mrs.  Craig,  as 
she  returned  to  her  husband,  who  felt  Iready  some  of  the 
ourie  symptoms  of  a  henpecked  destiny. 


Ti 


308 


CHAPTER    IX 


THE   MARRIAGE 


the 


Mr.  Snodgrass  was  obliged  to  walk  into  Irvine  one  evening, 
to  get  rid  of  a  raging  tooth,  which  had  tormented  him  for  more 
than  a  week.  The  operation  was  so  delicately  and  cleverly 
performed  by  the  surgeon  to  whom  he  applied — one  of  those 
young  medical  gentlemen,  who,  after  having  been  educated  for 
the  army  or  navy,  are  obliged,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of 
peace,  to  glean  what  practice  they  can  amid  their  native  shades 
— that  the  amiable  divine  found  himself  in  a  condition  to  call 
on  Miss  Isabella  Tod. 

During  this  visit,  Saunders  Dickie,  the  postman,  brought  a 
London  letter  to  the  door,  for  Miss  Isabella  ;  and  Mr.  Snod- 
grass having  desired  the  servant  to  inquire  if  there  were  any 
for  him,  had  the  good  fortune  to  get  the  following  from  Mr. 
Andrew  Pringle : — 


LETTER   XXIX 

Andrew  Pringle^  Esq.^  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Charles  Snodgrass 

My  dear  Friend — I  never  receive  a  letter  from  you  without 
experiencing  a  strong  emotion  of  regret,  that  talents  like  yours 
should  be  wilfully  consigned  to  the  sequestered  vegetation  of  a 
country  pastor's  life.  But  we  have  so  often  discussed  this 
point,  that  I  shall  only  offend  your  delicacy  if  I  now  revert  to 
it  more  particularly.  I  cannot,  however,  but  remark,  that 
although  a  private  station  may  be  the  happiest,  a  public  is  the 
proper  sphere  of  virtue  and  talent,  so  clear,  superior,  and 
decided  as  yours.     I  say  this  with  the  more  confidence,  as  I 

309 


' 

\ 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


k> 


have  really,  from  your  letter,  obtained  a  better  conception  of 
the  queen's  case,  than  from  all  that  I  have  been  able  to  read 
and  hear  upon  the  subject  in  London.  The  rule  you  lay  down 
is  excellent.  Public  safety  is  certainly  the  only  principle  which 
can  justify  mankind  in  agreeing  to  olDserve  and  enforce  penal 
statutes  ;  and,  therefore,  I  think  with  you,  that  unless  it  cou'd 
be  proved  in  a  very  simple  manner,  that  it  was  requisite  for 
the  public  safety  to  institute  proceedings  against  the  queen — 
her  sins  or  indiscretions  should  have  been  allowed  to  remain  in 
the  obscurity  of  her  private  circle. 

I  have  attended  the  trial  several  times.  For  a  judicial 
proceeding,  it  seems  to  me  too  long — and  for  a  legislative,  too 
technical.  Brougham,  it  is  allowed,  has  displayed  even  greater 
talent  than  was  expected ;  but  he  is  too  sharp  ;  he  seems  to 
me  more  anxious  to  gain  a  triumph,  than  to  establish  truth. 
I  do  not  like  the  tone  of  his  proceedings,  while  I  cannot 
surficiently  admire  his  dexterity.  The  style  of  Denman  is 
more  lofty,  and  impressed  with  stronger  lineaments  of  sincerity. 
As  for  their  opponents,  I  really  cannot  endure  the  Attorney- 
General  as  an  orator ,  his  whole  mind  consists,  as  it  were,  of 
a  number  of  little  hands  and  claws — each  of  which  holds  some 
scrap  or  portion  of  his  subject ;  but  you  might  as  well  expect 
to  get  an  idea  of  the  form  and  character  of  a  tree,  by  looking 
at  the  fallen  leaves,  the  fru"t,  the  seeds,  and  the  blossoms,  as 
anything  like  a  comprehensive  view  of  a  subject,  from  an 
intellect  so  constituted  as  that  of  Sir  Robert  Gifford.  He  is  a 
man  of  application,  but  of  meagre  abilities,  and  seems  never  to 
have  read  a  book  of  travels  in  his  life.  The  Solicitor-General 
is  somewhat  better  ;  but  he  is  one  of  those  who  think  a  certain 
artificial  gravity  requisite  to  professional  consequence ;  and 
which  renders  him  somewhat  obtuse  in  the  tact  of  propriety. 

Within  the  bar,  the  talent  is  superior  to  whaf  it  is  without ; 
and  I  have  been  often  delighted  with  the  amazing  fineness,  if 
1  may  use  the  expression,  with  which  the  Chancellor  discrimi- 
nates the  shades  of  difference  in  the  various  points  on  which 
he  is  called  to  deliver  b's  opinion.  I  consider  his  mind  as  a 
curiosity  of  no  ordinary  kind.  It  c^eceives  itself  by  its  own 
acuteness.  The  edge  is  too  sharp ;  and,  instead  of  cutting 
straight  through,  it  often  diverges — alarming  his  conscience 
with  the  dread  of  doing  wrong.  This  singular  subtlety  ha? 
the  effect  of  impairing  the  reverence  which  the  endowments 

310 


THE  MARRIAGE 


and  high  professional  accomplishments  of  this  great  man  are 
otherwise  calculated  to  inspire.  His  eloquence  is  not  effective 
— it  touches  no  feeling  nor  affects  any  passion  ;  but  still  it 
affords  wonderful  displays  of  a  lucid  intellect.  I  can  compare 
it  to  nothing  but  a  pencil  of  sunshine  ;  in  which,  although  one 
sees  countless  motes  flickering  and  fluctuating,  it  yet  illuminates, 
and  steadily  brings  into  the  most  satisfactory  distinctness, 
every  object  on  which  it  directly  falls. 

Lord  Erskine  is  a  character  of  another  class,  and  whatever 
difference  of  opinion  may  exist  with  respect  to  their  professional 
abilities  and  attainments,  it  will  be  allowed  by  those  who  con- 
tend chat  Eldon  is  the  better  lawyer — that  Ei  kine  is  the 
greater  genius.  Nature  herself,  with  a  constellation  in  her 
hand,  playfully  illuminates  his  path  to  the  temple  of  reasonable 
Justice  ;  while  Precedence  with  her  guide-book,  and  Study  with 
a  lantern,  cautiously  show  the  road  in  which  the  Chancellor 
warily  plods  his  weary  way  to  that  of  legal  Equity.  The 
sedateness  of  Eldon  is  so  remarkable,  that  it  is  difficult  to 
conceive  that  he  was  ever  young  ;  but  Erskine  cannot  grow 
old  ;  his  spirit  is  still  glowing  and  flushed  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  youth.  When  impassioned,  his  voice  acquires  a  singularly 
elevated  and  pathetic  accent ;  and  I  can  easily  conceive  the 
irresistible  effect  he  must  have  had  on  the  minds  of  a  jury, 
when  he  was  in  the  vigour  of  his  physical  powers,  and  the 
case  required  appeals  of  tenderness  or  generosity.  As  a 
parliamentary  orator,  Earl  Grey  is  undoubtedly  his  superior ; 
but  there  is  something  much  less  popular  and  conciliating  in 
his  manner.  His  eloquence  is  heard  to  most  advantage  when 
he  is  contemptuous  ;  and  he  's  then  certainly  dignified,  ardent, 
and  emphatic  ;  but  it  is  apt,  I  should  t'^ink,  to  impress  those 
who  hear  him,  for  the  first  tim«,  with  an  idea  that  he  is  a  very 
supercilious  personage,  and  this  unfavourable  impression  is 
liable  to  be  strengthened  by  the  elegant  ar-jiocratic  languor 
of  his  appearance. 

I  think  that  you  once  told  me  you  ha<^l  some  knowledge  of 
the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne,  when  he  was  Jx;rd  Henry  Petty. 
I  can  hardly  hope  that,  after  an  interval  '/f  so  many  years,  you 
will  recognise  him  in  the  following  sket<  h  :  -  H.i  appearance 
is  much  more  that  of  a  Whig  than  Lord  </rey  —  stout  and 
sturdy — but  still  withal  gentlemanly  ;  and  there  is  a  pleasing 
simplicity,  with  somewhat  of  good-nature,  in  the  ^Aps§siioa  of 

311 


f  !l 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


his  countenance,  that  renders  him,  in  a  quiescent  state,  the 
more  agreeable  character  of  the  two.  He  speaks  exceed- 
ingly well — clear,  methodical,  and  argumentative;  but  his 
eloquence,  like  himself,  is  not  so  graceful  as  it  is  upon  the 
whole  manly  ;  and  there  is  a  little  tendency  to  verbosity  in  his 
language,  as  there  is  to  corpulency  in  his  figure  ;  but  nothing 
turgid,  while  it  is  entirely  free  from  affectation.  The  character 
of  respectable  is  very  legibly  impressed,  in  everything  about 
the  mind  and  manner  of  his  lordship.  I  should,  now  that  I 
have  seen  and  heard  him,  be  astonished  to  hear  such  a  man 
represented  as  capable  of  being  factious. 

I  should  say  something  about  Lord  Liverpool,  not  only  on 
account  of  his  rank  as  a  minister,  but  also  on  account  of  the 
talents  which  have  qualified  him  for  that  high  situation.  The 
greatest  objection  that  I  have  to  him  as  a  speaker,  is  owing  to 
the  loudness  of  his  voice — in  other  respects,  what  he  does  say 
is  well  digested.  But  I  do  not  think  that  he  embraces  his 
subject  with  so  much  power  and  comprehension  as  some  of  his 
opponents  ;  and  he  has  evidently  iess  actual  experience  of  the 
world.  This  may  doubtless  be  attributed  to  his  having  been 
almost  constantly  in  office  since  he  came  into  public  life ;  than 
which  nothing  is  more  detrimental  to  the  unfolding  of  natural 
ability,  while  it  induces  a  sort  of  artificial  talent,  connected 
with  forms  and  technicahties,  which,  though  useful  in  business, 
is  but  of  minor  consequence  in  a  comparative  estimate  of  moral 
and  intellectual  qualities.  I  am  toid  that  in  his  manner  he 
resembles  Mr.  Pitt ;  be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  he  is  evidently 
a  speaker,  formed  more  by  habit  and  imitation,  than  one  whom 
nature  prompts  to  be  eloquent.  He  lacks  that  occasional 
accent  of  passion,  the  melody  of  oratory ;  and  I  doubt  if,  on 
any  occasion,  he  could  at  all  approximate  to  that  magnificent 
intrepidity  which  was  admired  as  one  of  the  noblest  character- 
istics of  his  master's  style. 

But  all  the  display  of  learning  and  eloquence,  and  intel- 
lectual power  and  majesty  of  the  House  of  Lords,  shrinks  into 
insignificance  when  compared  with  the  moral  attitude  which 
the  people  have  taken  on  this  occasion.  You  know  how  much 
I  have  ever  admired  the  attributes  of  the  English  national 
character — that  boundless  generosity,  which  can  only  be 
compared  to  the  impartial  benevolence  of  the  sunshine — that 
heroic  magnanimity,   which   makes   the   hand  ever  ready  to 

312 


THE  MARRIAGE 


succour  a  fallen  foe  :  and  Lhat  sublime  courage,  which  rises 
with  the  energy  of  a  conflagration  roused  by  a  tempest,  at 
every  insult  or  menace  of  an  enemy.  The  compassionate 
interest  taken  by  the  populace  in  the  future  condition  of  the 
queen  is  worthy  of  this  extraordinary  people.  There  may  be 
many  among  them  actuated  by  what  is  called  the  radical  spirit ; 
but  malignity  alone  would  dare  to  ascribe  the  bravery  of  their 
compassion  to  a  lesa  noble  feeling  than  that  which  has  placed 
the  kingdom  so  proudly  in  the  van  of  all  modem  nations. 
There  may  be  an  amiable  delusion,  as  my  Lord  Castlereagh 
has  said,  in  ihe  popular  sentiments  with  respect  to  the  queen. 
Upon  that,  as  ^oon  her  case,  I  offer  no  opinion.  It  is  enough 
for  me  to  have  seen,  with  the  admiration  of  a  worshipper,  the 
manner  in  wlilch  ti      nultitude  have  espoused  her  cause. 

But  my  paper  is  rilled,  and  I  must  conclude.  I  should, 
however,  mention  that  my  sister's  marriage  is  appointed  to 
take  place  to-morrow,  and  that  I  accompany  the  happy  pair  to 
France. — Yours  truly,  Andrew  Pringle. 

'  This  is  a  dry  letter,'  said  Mr.  Snodgrass,  and  he  handed 
it  to  Miss  Isabella,  who,  in  exchange,  presented  the  one  which 
she  had  herself  at  the  same  time  received  ;  but  just  as  Mr. 
Snodgrass  was  on  the  point  of  reading  it.  Miss  Becky  Glibbans 
was  announced.  '  How  lucky  this  is,'  exclaimed  Miss  Becky, 
*  to  find  you  both  thegither !  Now  you  maun  tell  me  all  the 
particulars ;  for  Miss  Mally  Glencaim  is  no  in,  and  her  letter 
lies  unopened.  I  am  just  gasping  to  hear  how  Rachel  con- 
ducted herself  at  being  married  in  the  kirk  before  all  the  folk 
— married  to  the  hussar  captain,  too,  after  all !  who  would 
have  thought  it  ? ' 

'  How,  have  you  heard  of  i  "  marriage  already  ? '  said  Miss 
Isabella.  '  Oh,  it's  in  the  newspapers,  replied  the  amiable 
inquisitant, — '  Like  ony  tailor  or  weavers — a'  weddings  maun 
nowadays  gang  into  the  papers.  The  whole  toun,  by  this 
time,  has  got  it ;  and  I  wouldna  wonder  if  Rachel  Pringle's 
marriage  ding  the  queen's  divorce  out  of  folk's  heads  for  the 
next  nine  days  to  come.  But  only  :o  think  of  her  being 
married  in  a  public  kirk.  Surely  her  father  weuld  never  submit 
to  hae't  done  by  a  bishop  ?  And  then  to  put  it  in  the  London 
paper,  as  if  Rachel  Pringle  had  been  somebody  of  distinction. 
Perhaps  it  might  have  been  more  to  the  purpose,  considering 

3^3 


I  i 


1 


!<;: 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


what  dragoon  officers  are,  if  she  had  got  the  doited  Doctor, 
her  father,  to  pubHsh  the  intended  marriage  in  the  papers 
beforehand.' 

'  Haud  that  condumacious  tongue  of  yours,'  cried  a  voice, 
panting  with  haste  as  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Glibbans 
entered.  *  Becky,  will  you  never  devawl  wi'  your  backbiting. 
I  wonder  frae  whom  the  misleart  lassie  takes  a'  this  passion  of 
clashing.' 

The  authority  of  her  parent's  tongue  silenced  Miss  Becky, 
and  Mrs.  Glibbans  having  seated  herself,  continued, — *  Is  it 
your  opinion,  Mr.  Snodgrass,  that  this  marriage  can  hold  good, 
contracted,  as  I  am  told  it  is  mentioned  in  the  papers  to  hae 
been,  at  the  horns  of  the  altar  of  Episcopalian  apostacy  ? ' 

'  I  can  set  you  right  as  to  that,'  said  Miss  Isabella. 
'  Rachel  mentions,  that,  after  returning  from  the  church,  the 
Doctor  himself  performed  the  ceremony  anew,  according  to 
the  Presbyterian  usage.'  '  I  am  glad  to  hear't,  very  glad 
indeed,'  said  Mrs.  Glibbans.  *  It  v  ould  have  been  a  judj^- 
ment-like  thing,  had  a  bairn  of  Dr.  Pringle's — than  whom, 
although  there  may  be  abler,  there  is  not  a  sounder  man  in  a* 
the  West  of  Scotland — been  sacriticed  to  Moloch,  like  the 
victims  of  prelatic  idolatry.' 

At  this  juncture,  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  was  announced : 
she  entered,  holding  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Pringle  in  her  hand, 
with  the  seal  unbroken.  Having  heard  of  the  marriage  from 
an  acquaintance  in  the  street,  she  had  hurried  home,  in  the 
well-founded  expectation  of  hearing  from  her  friend  and  well- 
wisher,  and  taking  up  the  letter,  which  she  found  on  her  table, 
came  with  all  speed  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod  to  commune  with 
her  on  the  tidings. 

Never  was  any  ronfluence  of  visitors  more  remarkable  than 
on  this  occasion.  Before  Miss  Mally  had  well  explained  the 
cause  of  her  abrtipt  intrusion,  Mr.  Mi<  .lewham  made  his 
appearance.  Me  had  come  to  Irvine  to  be  measured  for  a  new 
coat,  and  meeting  by  accident  with  Saunders  Dickie,  got  the 
Doctor's  letter  from  him,  which,  after  reatimg,  he  thought  he 
could  do  no  l<^s  than  call  at  Mrs.  1  od's,  to  let  Miss  Isabella 
know  the  change  which  hud  taken  place  in  the  condition  of 
her  friend. 

Thus  were  all  the  correspondents  of  the  Pringles  assembled, 
by  the  merest  chance,  like  the  dmmatis  persona  at  the  end  of 

3U 


THE  MARRIAGE 

a  play.  After  a  little  harmless  bantering,  it  was  agreed  that 
Miss  Mally  should  read  her  communication  first — as  all  the 
others  were  previously  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  their 
respective  letters,  and  Miss  Mally  read  as  follows  : — 


LETTER    XXX 
Mrs.  Pringle  to  Miss  Mally  Glcncairn 

Dear  Miss  Mally — I  hav  a  cro  to  pile  with  you  conseming 
yoor  comishon  aboot  the  partickels  for  your  friends.  You  can 
hav  no  noshon  what  the  Doctor  and  me  suffert  on  the  head  of 
the  flooring  shrubs.  We  took  your  Nota  Beny  as  it  was  spilt, 
and  went  from  shop  to  shop  enquirin  in  a  most  partiklar 
manner  for  *a  Gardner's  Bell,  or  the  least  cf  all  flowering 
plants ' ;  but  sorrow  a  gardner  in  the  whole  tot  here  in  London 
ever  had  heard  of  sic  a  thing  ;  so  we  gave  the  porshcot  up  in 
despare.  Howsomever,  one  of  Andrew's  acquaintance — a 
decent  lad,  who  is  only  son  to  a  saddler  in  a  been  way,  that 
keeps  his  own  carriage,  and  his  son  a  coryikel,  happent  to  call, 
and  the  Doctor  told  him  what  ill  socsess  we  had  in  our  serch 
for  the  gardner's  bell ;  upon  which  he  sought  a  sight  of  your 
yepissle,  and  read  it  as  a  thing  that  was  just  wonderful  for  its 
whorsogrofiie  ;  and  then  he  sayid,  that  looking  at  the  prinsipol 
of  your  spilling,  he  thought  we  should  reed,  *  a  gardner's  bill, 
or  a  Hst  of  all  flooring  plants ' ;  whilk  being  no  doot  your 
intent,  I  have  proqurt  the  same,  and  it  is  included  heerin. 
But,  Miss  Mally,  I  would  advize  you  to  be  more  exac  in  your 
inditing,  that  no  sic  torbolashon  may  hippen  on  a  future 
okashon. 

What  I  hav  to  say  for  the  present  is,  that  you  will,  by  a 
smak,  get  a  bocks  of  kumoddities,  whilk  you  will  destraboot  as 
derekit  on  every  on  of  them,  and  you  will  befo:c  have  resievit 
by  the  post-ofifis,  an  account  of  what  has  been  don.  I  need 
say  no  forther  at  this  time,  knowin  your  discreshon  and 
prooduns,  septs  that  our  Rachel  and  Captain  Sabor  will,  if  it 
pleese  the  Lord,  be  off  to  Parish,  by  way  of  Bryton,  as  man 
and  wife,  the  morn's  morning.  What  her  fathei  the  Doctor 
gives  for  tocher,  what  is  settlt  on  her  for  jontor,  I  will  tell  you 
all  aboot  when  we  meet ;  for  it's  our  dishire  noo  to  lose  no  tim 
in  retoming  to  the  manse,  this  being  the  last  of  our  diploma- 

315 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


ticals  in  London,  where  we  have  found  the  Argents  a  most 
discrit  family,  payin  to  the  last  farding  the  Comal's  legacy, 
and  most  seevil,  and  well  bred  to  us. 

As  I  am  naterally  gretly  okypt  with  this  matteromoneal 
afair,  you  cannot  expect  ony  news ;  but  the  queen  is  going  on 
with  a  dreadful  rat,  by  which  the  pesents  hav  falen  more  than 
a  whole  entirr  pesent.  I  wish  our  fonds  were  well  oot  of  them, 
and  in  yird  and  stane,  which  is  a  constansie.  But  what  is  to 
become  of  the  poor  donsie  woman,  no  one  can  expound. 
Some  think  she  will  be  pot  in  the  Toor  of  London,  and  her 
head  chappit  off;  others  think  she  will  raise  sic  a  stramash, 
that  she  will  send  the  whole  government  into  the  air,  like 
peelings  of  ingons,  by  a  gunpoother  plot.  But  it's  my  opinion, 
and  I  have  weighed  the  matter  well  in  my  understanding,  that 
she  will  hav  to  fight  with  sword  in  hand,  be  she  ill,  or  be  she 
good.  How  els  can  she  hop  to  get  the  better  of  more  than 
two  hundred  lords,  as  the  Doctor,  who  has  seen  them,  tells  me, 
with  princes  of  the  blood-royal,  and  the  prelatic  bishops,  whom, 
I  need  not  tell  you,  are  the  worst  of  all. 

But  the  thing  I  gradge  most,  is  to  be  so  long  in  Lundon, 
and  no  to  see  the  king.  Is  it  not  a  hard  thing  to  come  to 
London,  and  no  to  see  the  king  ?  I  am  not  pleesed  with  him, 
I  assure  you,  becose  he  does  not  set  himself  out  to  public  view, 
like  ony  other  curiosity,  but  stays  in  his  palis,  they  say,  like 
one  of  the  anshent  wooden  images  of  idolatry,  the  which  is  a 
great  peety,  he  beeing,  as  I  am  told,  a  beautiful  man,  and 
more  the  gentleman  than  all  the  coortiers  of  his  court. 

The  Doctor  has  been  minting  to  me  that  there  is  an  address 
from  Irvine  to  the  queen  ;  and  he,  being  so  near  a  neighbour 
to  your  toun,  has  been  thinking  to  pay  his  respecs  with  it,  to 
see  her  near  at  hand.  But  I  will  say  nothing ;  he  may  take 
his  own  way  in  matters  of  gospel  and  spiritualety ;  yet  I  have 
my  scroopols  of  conshence,  how  this  may  not  turn  out  a 
rebellyon  against  the  king ;  and  I  would  hav  hun  to  sift  and 
see  who  are  ^t  the  address,  before  he  pits  his  han  to  it.  For, 
if  it's  a  radikol  job,  as  I  jealoos  it  is,  what  will  the  Doctor  then 
say  ?  who  is  an  orthodox  man,  as  the  world  nose. 

In  the  maitre  of  our  dumesticks,  no  new  axsident  has  cast 
up ;  but  I  have  seen  such  a  wonder  as  could  not  have  been 
forethocht.  Having  a  washin,  I  went  down  to  see  how  the 
lassies  were  doing  ;  but  judge  of  my  feelings,  when  I  saw  them 

316 


THE  MARRIAGE 

triomphing  on  the  top  of  pattons,  standing  upright  before  the 
boyns  on  chairs,  rubbin  the  clothes  to  juggins  between  their 
hands,  above  the  apples,  with  their  gouns  and  stays  on,  and 
round -eired  mutches.  What  would  you  think  of  such  a 
miracle  at  the  washing-house  in  the  (ioffields,  or  the  Gallows- 
knows  of  Irvine?  The  cook,  howsomcver,  has  shown  nie  a 
way  to  make  rice-puddings  without  eggs,  by  putting  in  a  bit  of 
shoohet,  which  is  as  good — and  this  you  will  tell  Miss  Nanny 
Eydent ;  likewise,  that  the  most  fashionable  way  of  boiling 
green  pis,  is  to  pit  a  blade  of  speermint  in  the  pot,  which  gives 
a  fine  flavour.  But  this  is  a  long  letter,  and  my  pepper  is 
done  ;  so  no  more,  but  remains  your  friend  and  well-wisher, 

J.\NET  PRINGLE. 

*  A  great  legacy,  and  her  dochtir  married,  in  ae  journey  to 
London,  is  doing  business,'  said  Mrs.  Glibbans,  with  a  sigh,  as 
she  looked  to  her  only  get.  Miss  Becky  ;  'but  the  Lord's  will 
is  to  be  done  in  a'  thing ; — sooner  or  later  something  of  the 
same  kind  will  come,  I  trust,  to  all  our  families.'  'Ay,' 
replied  Miss  Mally  Glencairn,  'marriage  is  like  death — it's 
what  we  are  a'  to  come  to.' 

'  I  have  my  doubts  of  that,'  said  Miss  Becky  with  a  sneer. 
*  Ye  have  been  lang  spair't  from  it.  Miss  Mally.' 

'  Ye're  a  spiteful  puddock ;  and  if  the  men  hae  the  e'en 
and  lugs  they  used  to  hae,  gude  pity  him  whose  lot  is  cast 
with  thine,  Becky  Glibbans,'  replied  the  elderly  maiden  orna- 
ment of  the  Kirkgate,  somewhat  tartly. 

Here  Mr.  Snodgrass  interposed,  and  said,  he  would  read  to 
them  the  letter  which  Miss  Isabella  had  received  from  the 
bride ;  and  without  waiting  for  their  concurrence,  opened  and 
read  as  follows  : — 


LETTER   XXXI 
Mrs.  Sabre  to  Miss  Isabella  Tod 

My  dearest  Beli Rachel    Pringle    is   no  more  I     My 

heart  flutters  as  I  write  the  fatal  words.  This  morning,  at 
nine  o'clock  precisely,  she  was  conducted  in  bridal  array  to  the 
new  church  of  Mary-le-bone ;  and  there,  with  ring  and  book, 
sacrificed  to  the  Minotaur,  Matrimony,  who  devours  so  many 
of  our  bravest  youths  and  fairest  maidens. 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


My  mind  is  too  agitated  to  allow  me  to  describe  the  scene. 
The  office  of  handmaid  to  the  victim,  which,  in  our  young 
simplicity,  we  had  fondly  thought  one  of  us  would  perform  for 
the  other,  was  gracefully  sustained  by  Miss  Argent. 

On  returning  from  church  to  my  father's  residence  in 
Baker  Street,  where  we  breakfasted,  he  declared  himself  not 
satisfied  with  the  formalities  of  the  IL;;j;lish  ritual,  and  o.jliged 
us  to  undergo  a  second  ceremony  from  ttln^.'^oli,  according  to 
the  wonted  forms  of  the  Scottish  Church.  All  the  advantages 
and  pleasures  of  which,  my  dear  Bell,  I  hope  you  will  soon 
enjoy. 

But  I  have  no  time  to  enter  into  particulars.  The  captain 
and  his  lady,  by  themselves,  in  their  own  carriage,  set  off  for 
Brighton  in  the  course  of  less  than  an  hour.  On  Friday  they 
are  to  be  followed  by  a  large  party  of  their  friends  and 
relations  ;  and,  after  spending  a  few  days  in  that  emporium  of 
salt-water  pleasures,  they  embark,  accompanied  with  their 
beloved  brother,  Mr.  Andrew  Pringle,  for  Paris  ;  where  they 
are  afterwards  to  be  joined  by  the  Argents.  It  is  our  intention 
to  remain  about  a  month  in  the  French  capital ;  whe^^^her  we 
shall  extend  our  tour,  will  depend  on  subsequent  circum- 
stances :  in  the  meantime,  however,  you  will  hear  frequently 
from  me. 

My  mother,  who  has  a  thousand  times  during  these 
important  transactions  wished  for  the  assistance  of  Nanny 
Eydent,  transmits  to  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  a  box  containing 
all  the  requisite  bridal  recognisances  for  our  Irvine  friends.  I 
need  not  say  that  the  best  is  for  the  faithful  companion  of  my 
happiest  years.  As  I  had  made  a  vow  in  my  heart  that  Becky 
Glibbans  should  never  wear  gloves  for  my  marriage,  I  was 
averse  to  sending  her  any  at  all,  but  my  mother  insisted  that 
no  exceptions  should  be  made.  I  secretly  took  care,  however, 
to  mark  a  pair  for  her,  so  much  too  large,  that  I  am  sure  she 
will  never  put  them  on.  The  asp  v/iU  be  not  a  little  vexed 
at  the  disappointment.  Adieu  for  a  time,  and  believe  that, 
although  your  affectionate  Rachel  Pringle  be  gone  that  way 
in  which  she  hopes  you  will  soon  follow,  one  not  less  sincerely 
attached  to  you,  though  it  be  the  first  time  she  has  so  sub- 


scribed herself,  remains  in 


Rachel  Sabre. 


Before  the  ladies  had  time  to  say  a  word  on  the  subject, 

318 


THE  MARRIAGE 

the  prudent  young  clergyman  called  immediately  on  Mr. 
Micklewham  to  read  the  letter  which  he  had  received  from 
the  Doctor  ;  and  which  the  worthy  dominie  did  without  delay, 
in  that  rich  and  full  voice  with  which  he  is  accustomed  to 
teach  his  scholars  elocution  by  example. 


LETTER    XXXII 

The  Rev.  Z.  Pringle,  D.D.,  to  Mr.  Micklewham^  Schoolmaster 
and  Session-Clerk^  Gamock 

London. 

Dear  Sir — I  have  been  much  longer  of  replying  to  your 
letter  of  the  3rd  of  last  month,  than  I  ought  in  civility  to  have 
been,  but  really  tine,  in  this  town  of  London,  runs  at  a  fast 
rate,  and  the  day  passes  before  the  dark's  done.  What  with 
Mrs.  Pringle  and  her  daughter's  concernments,  anent  the 
marriage  to  Captain  Sabre,  and  the  trouble  I  felt  myself 
obliged  to  take  in  the  queen's  affair,  I  assure  you,  Mr. 
Micklewham,  that  it's  no  to  be  expressed  how  I  have  been 
occupied  for  the  last  four  weeks.  But  all  things  must  come  to 
a  conclusion  in  this  world.  Rachel  Pringle  is  married,  and 
the  queen's  weary  trial  is  brought  to  an  end — upon  the  subject 
and  motion  of  the  same,  I  offer  no  opinion,  for  I  made  it  a 
point  never  to  read  the  evidence,  being  resolved  to  stand  by 
THE  WORD  from  the  first,  which  is  clearly  and  plainly  written 
in  the  queen's  favour,  and  it  does  not  do  in  a  case  of 
conscience  to  stand  on  trifles ;  putting,  therefore,  out  of 
consideration  the  fact  libelled,  and  looking  both  at  the  head  and 
the  tail  of  the  proceeding,  I  was  of  a  firm  persuasion,  that  all 
the  sculduddery  of  the  business  might  have  been  well  spared 
from  the  eye  of  the  public,  wfiich  is  of  itself  sufficiently  prone 
to  keek  and  kook,  in  every  possible  way,  for  a  glimpse  of  a 
black  story ;  and,  therefore,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  stand  up 
in  all  places  against  the  trafficking  that  was  attempted  with  a 
divine  institution.  And  I  think,  when  my  people  read  how 
their  prelatic  enemies,  the  bishops  (tho  heavens  defend  the 
poor  Church  of  Scotland  from  being  subjected  to  the  weight  of 
their  paws),  have  been  visited  with  a  constipation  of  the  under- 
standing on  that  point,  it  must  to  them  be  a  great  satisfaction 
to  know  how  clear  and  collected  their  minister  was  on  this 

319 


I  . 


\ 


Z^^'^V^ 


*Mr.  Mickle^vham.' 
Copyright  1805  by  Marmitlan  it"  Co. 


THE  MAKKIAGF 


fundamenlal  of  society.  For  it  has  turned  out,  as  I  said  to 
Mrs.  Pringle,  as  well  as  others,  it  would  do,  that  a  sense  of 
grace  aiul  religion  would  ht-  manifested  in  sonic  quarter  before 
all  was  done,  by  which  the  devices  for  an  unsanctified  repudia- 
tion or  divorce  would  be  set  at  nought. 

As  often  as  I  could,  d<cming  it  my  duty  as  a  minister  of 
the  word  and  gospel,  I  goi  mto  the  House  of  Lords,  and  heard 
the  trial ;  and  1  cannot  think  how  ever  it  was  expected  that 
justice  could  be  done  yonder  ;  for  although  no  man  could  be 
more  attentive  than  I  was,  every  time  I  came  away  I  was  more 
confounded  than  when  1  went ;  and  when  the  trial  was  done, 
it  seemed  to  me  just  to  be  clearing  up  for  a  proper  beginning 
— all  which  is  a  proof  that  there  was  a  foul  conspiracy.  Indeed, 
when  1  saw  Duke  Hamilton's  daughter  coining  out  of  the 
coach  with  the  queen,  I  never  could  think  after,  that  a  lady 
of  her  degree  would  have  countenanced  the  queen  had  the 
matter  laid  to  her  charge  been  as  it  was  said.  Not  but  in 
any  circumstance  it  behoved  a  lady  of  that  ancient  and  royal 
blood,  to  be  seen  beside  the  queen  in  such  a  great  historical 
case  as  a  trial. 

1  hope,  in  the  part  I  have  taken,  my  people  will  be  s.itisfied  ; 
but  whether  they  arc  satisfied  or  not,  my  own  conscience  is 
content  with  me.  I  was  in  the  House  of  Lords  when  her 
majesty  came  down  for  the  last  time,  and  saw  her  handed  up  the 
stairs  by  the  usher  of  the  black-rod,  a  little  stumpy  man,  wonder- 
ful particular  about  the  rules  of  the  House,  insomuch  that  lir  was 
almost  angry  with  me  for  stopping  at  the  stair-head.  The 
afflicted  woman  was  then  in  great  spirits,  and  I  saw  no 
symptoms  of  the  swell  ■{  legs  that  Lord  Lauderdale,  that  jook- 
ing  man,  spol  "^  abo  or  she  skippit  up  the  steps  like  a  lassie. 
Hut  my  heart  \.c  -  ae  for  her  when  all  was  over,  for  she 
came  out  like  an  astonished  creature,  with  a  wild  steadfast 
look,  and  a  sort  of  something  in  the  face  that  -was  as  if  the 
rational  spirit  had  fled  away  ;  and  she  went  down  to  her  coach 
as  if  she  had  submitted  to  be  led  to  a  doleful  destiny.  Then 
the  shouting  of  the  people  began,  and  I  saw  and  shouted  too 
in  spite  of  my  decorum,  which  I  marvel  at  sometimes,  thinking 
it  could  be  nothing  less  than  an  involuntary  testification  of  the 
spirit  within  me. 

Anent  the  marriage  of  Rachel  Pringle,  it  may  be  needful 
in  me  to  state,  for  the  satisfaction  of  my  people,  that  although 

Y  321 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

by  stress  of  law  we  were  obligated  to  conform  to  the  practice 
of  the  Episcopalians,  by  taking  out  a  bishop's  license,  and 
roing  to  their  chuf-^h,  and  vowing,  in  a  pagan  fashion,  before 
their  altars,  which  are  an  abomination  to  the  Lord  ;  yet,  when 
the  young  folk  came  home,  I  made  them  stand  up,  and  be 
married  again  before  me,  according  to  all  regular  marriages 
in  our  national  Church.  For  this  I  had  two  reasons :  first, 
to  satisfy  myself  that  there  had  been  a  true  and  real  marriage  ; 
and,  secondly,  to  remove  the  doubt  of  the  former  ceremony 
being  sufficient ;  for  marriage  being  of  divine  appointment, 
and  the  English  form  and  ritual  being  a  thing  established  by 
Act  of  Parliament,  which  is  of  human  ordir«ation,  I  was  not 
sure  that  marriage  performed  according  to  a  human  enactment 
could  be  a  fulfilment  of  a  divine  ordinance.  I  therefore  hope 
that  my  people  will  approve  what  I  have  done  ;  and  in  order 
that  there  may  be  a  sympathising  with  me,  you  will  go  over 

to  Banker  M y,  and  get  what  he  will  give  you,  as  ordered 

by  me,  and  distribute  it  among  the  poorest  of  the  parish, 
according  to  the  best  of  your  discretion,  my  long  absence 
having  taken  from  me  the  power  of  judgment  in  a  matter  of 
this  sort.  I  wish  indeed  for  the  glad  sympathy  of  my  people, 
for  I  think  that  our  Saviour  turning  water  into  wine  at  the 
wedding,  was  an  example  set  that  we  should  rejoice  and  be 
merry  at  the  fulfilment  of  one  of  the  great  obligations  imposed 
on  us  as  social  creatures ;  and  I  have  ever  regarded  the 
unhonoured  treatment  of  a  marriage  occasion  as  a  thing  of 
evil  bodement,  betokening  heavy  hearts  and  light  purses  to 
the  lot  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  You  will  hear  more  from 
me  by  and  by ;  in  the  meantime,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  when 
we  have  taken  our  leave  of  the  young  folks,  who  are  going  to 
France,  it  is  Mrs.  Pringle's  intent,  as  well  as  mine,  to  turn 
our  horses'  heads  northward,  and  make  our  way  with  what 
speed  we  can,  for  our  own  quiet  home,  among  you.  So  no 
more  at  present  from  your  friend  and  pastor, 

•    Z.  Pringle. 


Mrs.  Tod,  the  mother  of  Miss  Isabella,  a  respectable  widow 
lady,  who  had  quiescently  joined  the  company,  proposed  that 
they  should  now  drink  health,  happiness,  and  all  manner  of 
prosperity,  to  the  young  couple  ;  and  that  nothing  might  be 
wanting  to  secure  the  favourable  auspices  of  good  omens  to 

322 


THE  MARRIAGE 

the  toast,  she  desired  Miss  Isabella  to  draw  fresh  bottles  of 
white  and  red.  When  all  mannc-  of  felicity  was  duly  wished 
in  wine  to  the  captain  and  his  lady,  the  party  rose  to  seek 
their  respective  homes.  Hut  a  bustle  at  the  street-door 
occasioned  a  pause.  Mrs.  Tod  inquired  the  matter ;  and 
three  or  four  voices  at  once  replied,  that  an  express  had  come 
from  Garnock  for  Nanse  Swaddle  the  midwife,  Mrs,  Cniij^ 
being  taken  with  her  pains.  'Mr.  Snodgrass,'  said  Mrs. 
Glibbans,  instantly  .and  emphatically,  '  ye  maun  let  me  go  with 
you,  and  we  can  spiritualise  on  the  road  ;  for  I  hae  promis'i 
Mrs.  Craig  to  be  wi'  her  at  the  crying,  to  see  the  upshot — so 
I  hope  you  will  come  awa.* 

It  would  be  impossible  in  us  to  suppose,  that  Mr.  Snodgrass 
had  any  objections  to  spiritualise  with  Mrs.  Glibbans  on  the 
road  between  Irvine  and  Garnock  ;  but,  notwithstanding  her 
urgency,  he  excused  himself  from  going  with  her ;  however, 
he  recommended  her  to  the  special  care  and  protection  of  Mr. 
Micklewham,  who  was  at  that  time  on  his  legs  to  return  home. 
*  Oh  !  Mr.  Snodgrass,'  said  the  lady,  looking  slyly,  as  she 
adjusted  her  cloak,  at  him  and  Miss  Isabella,  *  there  will  be 
marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  till  the  day  of  judgment.' 
And  with  these  oracular  words  she  took  her  departure. 


lat 
I  no 


low 
lat 

of 
Ibe 

to 


323 


CHAPTER    X 


TIIK    RKTUKN 


On  Friday,  Miss  Mally  (Ilcncaiin  received  a  brief  note  from 
Mrs.  I'rin^le,  informing  her,  that  she  and  the  Doctor  would 
reach  the  manse,  '(lod  willing,'  in  lime  for  tea  on  Saturday; 
and  l)egging  her,  therefore,  to  go  over  from  Irvine,  and  sec 
that  the  house  was  in  order  for  their  reception.  This  note 
was  written  from  (ilasgow,  where  they  had  arrived,  in  their 
own  carriage,  from  Carlisle  on  the  preceding  day,  after 
encountering,  as  Mrs.  I'ringie  said,  'more  hardships  and 
extorshoning  than  all  the  dangers  of  ihc  sea  which  they  met 
with  in  the  smr/ck  of  Leith  that  took  them  to  London.' 

As  soon  as  Miss  Mally  received  tliis  intelligence,  she  went 
to  Miss  Isabella  Tod,  and  rec|uested  Ijcr  company  for  the 
next  day  to  darnock,  where  they  arrived  betimes  to  dine  with 
Mr.  Snodgrass.  IVirs.  (il  bbans  and  her  daughter  IJecky  were 
then  on  a  consol  itory  visit  to  Mr.  Craig.  We  mentioned  in 
the  last  chapter,  that  the  crying  of  Mrs.  Craig  had  come  on  ; 
and  that  Mrs.  Glibbans,  according  to  promise,  and  with  the 
most  anxious  solicitude,  liad  gone  to  wait  the  upshot.  'I'he 
upshot  was  most  melancholy, — Mrs,  Craig  was  soon  no  more  ; 
— she  wn.  taken,  as  Mrs.  Glibbans  observed  on  the  occasion, 
from  tLe  earthly  arms  of  her  husband,  to  the  spiritual  bosom 
o' Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  which  was  far  better.  Hut  the 
baby  survived  ;  so  that,  what  with  getting  a  nurse,  and  the 
burial,  and  all  the  work  and  handling  that  a  birth  and  death 
in  one  house  at  the  same  time  causes,  Mr.  Craig  declared, 
that  he  could  not  do  without  Mrs.  Glibbans  ;  and  she,  with  all 
that  Christianity  by  which  she  was  so  zealously  distinguished, 
sent  for  Miss  liecky,  and  took  up  her  abode  with  him,  till  it 
would  please  Him,  without  whom  there  is  no  comfort,  to  wipe 
the  eyes  of  the  pious  elder.      In  a  word,  she  staid  so  long,  that 


T!IK  RETURN 


a  rumour  bc^'an  to  spread  that  Mr.  Crai^f  would  need  a  wife 
to  look  after  liis  bairn  ;  and  that  Mrs.  (Jlibbans  was  destined 
to  su|)|>ly  the  desideratum. 

Mr.  Snodj,'rass,  after  enjoying,'  his  (Hnncr  society  with  Miss 
Mally  and  Miss  IsabeUa,  thought  it  necessary  to  dis()at<Ji  a 
courier,  in  the  shape  of  a  barefooted  servant  lass,  to  Mr. 
Micklcwham,  to  inform  the  elders  that  tlie  Doctor  was 
expected  lionie  in  time  for  tea,  leaving  it  to  their  (hscrction 
either  to  j^reet  his  safe  return  at  tlie  manse,  or  in  any  otiier 
form  or  manner  that  woidd  be  most  agreeable  to  themselves. 
These  important  news  were  soon  diffused  through  the  riar  ban. 
Mr.  Micklcwham  dismissed  his  school  an  hour  before  the 
wonted  time,  and  there  was  a  up.iversal  interest  and  curiosity 
excited,  to  sec  the  Doctor  coming  liome  in  his  own  coach.  All 
the  boys  of  ( iarnock  assembUid  at  {\v:  braehead  which  commands 
an  extensive  view  of  the  Kilmarn(»ck  road,  tin;  only  one  from 
(jlasi^'H'v  that  runs  throuj^h  the  |)arish  ;  the  wives  with  their 
sucklii.^a  were  seated  on  the  lar>^c  stones  at  their  respective 
door-cheeks  ;  while  their  cats  were  calmly  reclining,'  on  the 
window  soles.  The  lassie  weans,  like  clusterinj^'  bees,  were 
mounted  on  the  carts  that  stood  before  'IT.omas  Hirlpenny  the 
vintner's  door,  churmin^'  svith  anticipated  deli^dit  ;  the  old  men 
took  their  stations  on  the  dike  that  incloses  the  side  of  the 
vintner's  kail-yard,  and  *  a  batch  of  w.abster  lads,'  with  ^reen 
aprons  and  thin  yellow  faces,  planted  themselves  at  the  gable 
of  the  malt  kiln,  where  they  were  wont,  when  trade  was  better, 
to  play  at  the  hand-ball  ;  but,  poor  fellows,  since  the  trade  fell 
off,  they  have  had  no  heart  for  the  game,  and  the  vintner's 
half-mutchkin  stoups  glitter  in  empty  splendour  unrequired  on 
the  shelf  below  the  brazen  sconce  above  the  bracepiece,  amidst 
the  idle  pewter  pepper-boxes,  the  bright  copjier  tea-kettle,  the 
coffee-pot  that  has  never  been  in  use,  and  lids  of  saucepans 
that  have  survived  their  principals, — the  wonted  ornaments  of 
every  trig  change-house  kitchen. 

The  season  was  far  advanced  ;  but  the  sun  shone  at  his 
setting  with  a  glorious  composure,  and  the  birds  in  the  hedges 
and  on  the  boughs  were  again  gladdened  inlo  song.  The 
leaves  had  fallen  thickly,  and  the  stubble-fields  were  bare,  but 
Autumn,  in  a  many -coloured  tartan  plaid,  was  seen  still 
walking  with  matronly  composure  in  the  woodlands,  along  the 
brow  of  the  neighbouring  hills. 

325 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


About  half-past  four  o'clock,  a  movement  was  seen  among 
the  callans  at  the  braehead,  and  a  shout  announced  that  a 
carriage  was  in  sight.  It  was  answered  by  a  murmuring 
response  of  satisfaction  from  the  whole  village.  In  the  course 
of  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  reached  the  turnpike — it  was  of 
the  darkest  green  and  the  gravest  fashion, — a  large  trunk, 
covered  with  Russian  matting,  and  fastened  on  with  cords, 
prevented  from  chafing  it  by  knots  of  straw  rope,  occupied  the 
front, — behind,  other  two  were  fixed  in  the  same  manner,  the 
lesser  of  course  uppermost ;  and  deep  beyond  a  pile  of  light 
bundles  and  bandboxes,  that  occupied  a  large  portion  of  the 
interior,  the  blithe  faces  of  the  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Pringle  were 
discovered.  The  boys  huzzaed,  the  Doctor  flung  them  penny- 
pieces,  and  the  mistress  baubees. 

As  the  carriage  drove  along,  the  old  men  on  the  dike  stood 
up  and  reverently  took  off  their  hats  and  bonnets.  The  weaver 
lads  gazed  with  a  melancholy  smile ;  the  lassies  on  the  carts 
clapped  their  hands  with  joy ;  the  women  on  both  sides  of  the 
street  acknowledged  the  recognising  nods  ;  while  all  the  village 
dogs,  surprised  by  the  sound  of  chariot  wheels,  came  baying 
and  barking  forth,  and  sent  off  the  cats  that  were  so  doucely 
sitting  on  the  window  soles,  clambering  and  scampering  over 
the  roofs  in  terror  of  their  lives. 

When  the  carriage  reached  the  manse  door,  Mr.  Snodgrass, 
the  two  ladies,  with  Mr.  Micklewham,  and  all  the  elders  except 
Mr.  Craig,  were  there  ready  to  receive  the  travellers.  But  over 
this  joy  of  welcoming  we  must  draw  a  veil ;  for  the  first  thing 
that  the  Doctor  did,  on  entering  the  parlour  and  before  sitting 
down,  was  to  return  thanks  for  his  safe  restoration  to  his  home 
and  people. 

The  carriage  was  then  unloaded,  and  as  package,  bale,  box, 
and  bundle  were  successively  brought  in.  Miss  Mally  Glencairn 
expressed  her  admiration  at  the  great  capacity  of  the  chaise. 
'  Ay,'  said  Mrs.  Pringle,  *  but  you  know  not  what  we  have 
suffert  for't  in  coming  through  among  the  English  taverns  on 
the  road ;  some  of  them  would  not  take  us  forward  when 
there  was  a  hill  to  pass,  unless  we  would  take  four  horses,  and 
every  one  after  another  reviled  us  for  having  no  mercy  in 
loading  the  carriage  like  a  waggon, — and  then  the  drivers  were 
so  gleg  and  impudent,  that  it  was  worse  than  martyrdom  to 
come  with  them.     Had  the  Doctor  taken  my  advice,  he  would 

326 


THE  RETURN 


have  brought  our  own  civil  London  coachman,  whom  we  hired 
with  his  own  horses  by  the  job ;  but  he  said  it  behoved  us  to 
gi'e  our  ain  fish  guts  to  our  ain  sea-maws,  and  that  he  designed 
to  fee  Thomas  Birlpenny's  hostler  for  our  coachman,  being  a 
lad  of  the  parish.  This  obliged  us  to  post  it  from  London  ; 
but,  oh  !  Miss  Mally,  what  an  outlay  it  has  been  ! ' 

The  Doctor,  in  the  meantime,  had  entered  into  conversation 
with  the  gentlemen,  and  was  inquiring,  in  the  most  particular 
manner,  respecting  all  his  parishioners,  and  expressing  his 
surprise  that  Mr.  Craig  had  not  been  at  the  manse  with  the 
rest  of  the  elders.  ♦  It  does  not  look  well,'  said  the  Doctor. 
Mr.  Daff,  however,  offered  the  best  apology  for  his  absence 
that  could  be  made.  '  He  has  had  a  gentle  dispensation,  sir — 
Mrs.  Craig  has  won  awa'  out  of  this  sinful  world,  poor  woman, 
she  had  a  large  experience  o't ;  but  the  bairn's  to  the  fore,  and 
Mrs.  Glibbans.  that  has  such  a  cast  of  grace,  has  ta'en  charge 
of  the  house  since  betoic  the  interment.  It's  thought,  con- 
sidering what's  by  gane,  Mr.  Craig  may  do  waur  than  make 
her  mistress,  and  I  hope,  sir,  your  exhortation  will  no  be  want- 
ing to  egg  the  honest  man  to  think  o't  seriously.' 

Mr.  Snodgrass,  before  delivering  the  household  keys, 
ordered  two  bottles  of  wine,  with  glasses  and  biscuit,  to  be  set 
upon  the  table,  while  Mrs.  Pringle  produced  from  a  paper 
package,  that  had  helped  to  stuff  one  of  the  pockets  of  the 
carriage,  a  piece  of  rich  plum-cake,  brought  all  the  way  from 
a  confectioner's  in  Cockspur  Street,  London,  not  only  for  the 
purpose  of  being  eaten,  but,  as  she  said,  to  let  Miss  Nanny 
Eydent  pree,  in  order  to  direct  the  Irvine  bakers  how  to  bake 
others  like  it. 

Tea  was  then  brought  in  ;  and,  as  it  was  making,  the 
Doctor  talked  aside  to  the  elders,  while  Mrs.  Pringle  recounted 
to  Miss  Mally  and  Miss  Isabella  the  different  incidents  of  her 
adventures  subsequent  to  the  marriage  of  Miss  Rachel. 

•The  young  folk,'  said  she,  'having  gone  to  Brighton,  we 
followed  them  in  a  few  days,  for  we  were  told  it  was  a  curiosity, 
and  that  the  king  has  a  palace  there,  just  a  warld's  wonder  1 
and,  truly.  Miss  Mally,  it  is  certainly  not  like  a  house  for  a 
creature  of  this  world,  but  for  some  Grand  Turk  or  Chinaman. 
The  Doctor  said,  it  put  him  in  mind  of  Miss  Jenny  Macbride's 
sideboard  in  the  Stockwell  of  Glasgow  ;  where  all  the  pepper- 
boxes, poories,  and  teapots,  punch-bowls,  and  china-candlesticks 

327 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


of  her  progenitors  are  set  out  for  a  show,  that  tells  her  visitors, 
they  are  but  seldom  put  to  use.  As  for  the  town  of  Brighton, 
it's  what  I  would  call  a  gawky  piece  of  London.  I  could  see 
nothing  in  it  but  a  wheen  idlers,  hearing  twa  lads,  ai  night, 
crying,  "  Five,  six,  seven  for  a  shilling,"  in  the  booksellers'  shops, 
with  a  play-actor  lady  singing  in  a  corner,  because  her  voice 
would  not  do  for  the  players'  stage.  Therefore,  having  seen 
the  Captain  and  Mrs.  Sabre  off  to  France,  we  came  home  to 
London  ;  but  it's  not  to  be  told  what  we  had  to  pay  at  the 
hotel  where  we  staid  in  Brighton.  Howsomever,  having  come 
back  to  London,  we  settled  our  counts,  and,  buying  a  few 
necessars,  we  prepared  for  Scotland, — and  here  we  are.  Hut 
travelling  has  surely  a  fine  effect  in  enlarging  the  understanding  ; 
for  both  the  Doctor  and  me  thought,  as  we  came  along,  that 
everything  had  a  smaller  and  poorer  look  than  when  we  went 
away  ;  and  I  dinna  think  this  room  is  just  what  it  used  to  be. 
What  think  ye  o't,  Miss  Isabella  ?  How  would  ye  like  to  spend 
your  days  in't  ? ' 

Miss  Isabella  reddened  at  this  question  ;  but  Mrs.  Pringle, 
who  was  as  prudent  as  she  was  observant,  affecting  not  to 
notice  this,  turned  round  to  Miss  Mally  Cilencairn,  and  said 
softly  in  her  ear, — '  Rachel  v/as  Bell's  confidante,  and  has  told 
us  all  about  what's  going  on  between  her  and  Mr.  Snodgrass, 
We  have  agreed  no  to  s'and  in  their  way,  as  soon  as  the 
Doctor  can  get  a  mailing  or  two  to  secure  his  money  upon.' 

Meantime,  the  Doctor  received  irom  the  elder*;  a  very 
satisfactory  account  of  all  that  had  happened  among  hi  ople, 
both  in  and  out  of  the  Session,  during  his  absence  ;  and  he 
was  vastly  pleased  to  find  there  had  been  no  inordinate  increase 
of  wickedness  ;  at  the  same  time,  he  was  grieved  for  the  con- 
dition in  which  the  poor  weavers  still  continued,  saying,  that 
among  other  things  of  which  he  had  been  of  late  meditating, 
was  the  setting  up  of  a  lending  bank  in  the  parish  for  the 
labouring  classes,  where,  when  they  were  out  of  work,  '  bits  of 
loans  for  a  house-rent,  or  a  brat  of  claes,  or  sic  like,  might  be 
granted,  to  be  repaid  when  trade  grew  l)etter,  and  thereby 
take  away  the  objection  that  an  honest  pride  had  to  receiving 
help  from  the  Session.' 

Then  some  lighter  general  conversation  ensued,  in  which 
the  Doctor  gave  his  worthy  counsellors  a  very  jocose  description 
of  many  of  the  lesser  sort  of  adventures  which  he  had  met 

328 


THE  RETURN 


with ;  and  the  ladies  having  retired  to  inspect  the  great 
bargains  that  Mrs.  Pringle  had  got,  and  the  splendid  additions 
she  had  made  to  her  ward,  ^be,  out  of  whnt  she  drnnniinated 
the  dividends  of  the  present  portion  of  the  legacy,  tlic  Doctor 
ordered  in  the  second  biggest  toddy-bowl,  the  guardevine  with 
the  old  rum,  and  told  the  lassie  to  see  if  the  tea-kettle  was  still 
boiling.  '  Ye  maun  drink  our  welcome  hame,'  said  he  to  the 
elders  ;  '  it  would  nae  otherwise  be  canny.  But  I'm  sorry 
Mr.  Craig  has  nae  come.'  At  these  words  the  door  opened, 
and  the  absent  elder  entered,  with  a  long  face  and  a  deep 
sigh.  '  Ha  ! '  cried  Mr.  Daff,  '  this  is  very  droll.  Speak  of 
the  Evil  One,  and  he'll  appear '  ; — which  words  dinted  on  the 
heart  of  Mr.  Craig,  who  thought  his  marriage  in  December 
had  been  the  subject  of  their  discourse.  The  Doctor,  however, 
went  up  and  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  said,  *  Now 
I  take  this  very  kind,  Mr.  Craig  ;  for  I  <  ould  not  have  ex- 
pected you,  considering  ye  have  got,  as  I  am  told,  your  jo  in 
the  house' ;  at  which  words  the  Doctor  winked  paukily  to  Mr. 
Daff,  who  rubbed  his  hands  with  fainness,  and  gave  a  good- 
humoured  sort  of  keckling  laugh.  This  facetious  stroke  of 
policy  was  a  great  relief  to  the  afflicted  elder,  for  he  saw  by  it 
that  the  Doctor  did  not  mean  to  trouble  him  with  any  inquiries 
respecting  his  deceased  wife ;  and,  in  consequence,  he  put  on 
a  blither  face,  and  really  affected  to  have  forgotten  her  already 
more  than  he  had  done  in  sincerity. 

Thus  the  night  passed  in  decent  temperance  and  a  happy 
decorum ;  insomuch,  that  ihe  elders  when  they  went  away, 
cither  by  the  influence  of  the  toddy-bowl,  or  the  Doctor's  funny 
stories  about  the  Englishers,  declared  that  he  was  an  excellent 
man,  and,  being  none  lifted  up,  was  worthy  of  his  rich  legacy. 

At  supper,  the  party,  besides  the  minister  and  Mrs.  Pringle, 
consisted  of  the  two  Irvine  ladies,  and  Mr.  Snodgrass.  Miss 
IJecky  Glibbans  came  in  when  it  was  about  half  over,  to  express 
her  mother's  sorrow  at  not  being  able  to  call  that  night.  *  Mr. 
Craig's  bairn  having  taken  an  ill  turn.'  The  truth,  however, 
nas,  that  the  worthy  elder  had  been  rendered  somewhat  tozy 
by  the  minister's  toddy,  and  wanted  an  opportunity  to  inform 
the  old  lady  of  the  joke  that  had  been  played  upon  him  by 
the  Doctor  calling  her  his  jo,  and  to  see  how  she  would  relish 
it.  So  by  a  little  address  Miss  Becky  was  sent  out  of  the  way, 
with  tl;  2  excuse  we  have  noticed  ;   at  the  same  time,  as  the 

329 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


lid 
vn 


night  was  rather  sharp,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  she  \\ 
have  been  the  bearer  of  any  such  message,  had  her 
curiosity  not  enticed  her. 

During  supper  the  conversation  was  very  Hvely.  Many 
'  pickant  jokes,'  as  Miss  Becky  described  them,  were  cracked 
by  the  Doctor  ;  but,  soon  .ifter  the  table  was  cleared,  he  touched 
Mr.  Snodgrass  on  the  arm,  and,  taking  up  one  of  the  candles, 
went  with  him  to  his  study,  where  he  then  told  him,  that 
Rachel  Pringle,  now  Mrs.  Sabre,  had  informed  him  of  a  way 
in  which  he  could  do  him  a  service.  '  I  understand,  sir,'  said 
the  Doctor,  'that  you  have  a  notion  of  Miss  Bell  Tod,  but 
that  until  ye  get  a  kirk  there  can  be  no  marriage.  But  the 
auld  horse  may  die  waiting  for  the  new  grass  ;  and,  therefore, 
as  the  Lord  has  put  it  in  my  power  to  do  a  good  action  both 
to  you  and  my  people, — whom  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  have 
pleased  so  well, — if  it  can  be  brought  about  that  you  could  be 
made  helper  and  successor,  I'll  no  object  to  give  up  to  you 
the  whole  stipend,  and,  by  and  by,  maybe  the  manse  to  the 
bargain.  But  that  is  if  you  marry  Miss  I^ell ;  for  it  was  a 
promise  that  Rachel  gar't  me  make  to  her  on  her  wedding 
morning.  Ye  know  she  was  a  forcasting  lassie,  and,  I  have 
reason  to  believe,  has  said  nothing  anent  this  to  Miss  Bell 
herself;  so  that  if  you  have  no  partiality  for  Miss  Bell,  things 
will  just  rest  on  their  own  footing  ;  but  if  you  have  a  notion,  it 
must  be  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  know  this,  as  it  will  be  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  carry  it  as  soon  as  possible  into  effect.' 

Mr.  Snodgrass  was  a  good  deal  agitated  ;  he  was  taken  by 
surprise,  and  without  words  the  Doctor  might  have  guessed 
his  sentiments ;  he,  however,  frankly  confessed  that  he  did 
entertain  a  very  high  opinion  of  Miss  Bell,  but  that  he  was  not 
sure  if  a  country  parish  would  exactly  suit  him.  '  Never  mind 
that,'  said  the  Doctor ;  *  if  it  does  not  fit  at  first,  you  will  get 
used  to  it ;  and  if  a  better  casts  up,  it  will  be  no  obstacle.' 

The  two  gentlemen  then  rejoined  the  ladies,  and,  after  a 
short  conversation,  Miss  Becky  Glibbans.  was  admonished  to 
depart,  by  the  servants  bringing  in  the  Bibles  for  the  worship 
of  the  evening.  This  was  usually  performed  before  supper, 
but,  owing  to  the  bowl  being  on  the  table,  and  the  company 
jocose,  it  had  been  postponed  till  all  the  guests  who  were  not 
to  sleep  in  the  house  had  departed. 

The  Sunday  morning  was  fine  and  bright  for  the  season  j 

330 


THE  RETURN 


the  hoar-frost,  till  about  an  hour  after  sunrise,  lay  white  on 
the  grass  and  tombstones  in  the  churchyard  ;  but  before  the 
bell  rung  for  the  congregation  to  assemble,  it  was  exhaled 
away,  and  a  freshness,  that  was  only  known  to  be  autumnal  by 
the  fallen  and  yellow  leaves  that  strewed  the  church-way  path 
from  the  ash  and  plane  trees  in  the  avenue,  encouraged  the 
spirits  to  sympathise  with  the  universal  cheerfulness  of  all 
nature. 

The  return  of  the  Doctor  had  been  bruited  through  the 
parish  with  so  much  expedition,  that,  when  the  bell  nmg  for 
public  worship,  none  of  those  who  were  in  the  practice  of 
stopping  in  the  churchyard  to  talk  about  the  weather  were  so 
ignorant  as  not  to  have  heard  of  this  important  fact.  In  con- 
sequence, before  the  time  at  which  the  Doctor  was  wont  to 
come  from  the  back-gate  which  opened  from  the  manse-garden 
into  the  churchyard,  a  great  majority  of  his  people  were 
assembled  to  receive  him. 

At  the  last  jingle  of  the  bell,  the  back-gate  was  usually 
opened,  and  the  Doctor  was  wont  to  come  forth  as  punctually 
as  a  cuckoo  of  a  clock  at  the  striking  of  the  hour ;  but  a 
deviation  was  observed  on  this  occasion.  Formerly,  Mrs. 
Pringle  and  the  rest  of  the  family  came  first,  and  a  few  minutes 
were  allowed  to  elapse  before  the  Doctor,  laden  with  grace, 
made  his  appearance.  But  at  this  time,  either  because  it  had 
been  settled  that  Mr.  Snodgrass  was  to  officiate,  or  for  some 
other  reason,  there  was  a  breach  in  the  observance  of  this 
time-honoured  custom. 

As  the  ringing  of  the  bell  ceased,  the  gate  unclosed,  and 
the  Doctor  came  forth.  He  was  of  that  easy  sort  of  feather- 
bed corpulency  of  form  that  betokens  good-nature,  and  had 
none  of  that  smooth,  red,  well-filled  protuberancy,  which  indi- 
cates a  choleric  humour  and  a  testy  temper.  He  was  in  fact 
what  Mrs.  Glibbans  denominated  'a  m  .n  of  a  gausy  external.* 
And  some  little  change  had  taken  place  during  his  absence  in 
his  visible  equipage.  His  stockings,  which  were  wont  to  be 
of  worsted,  had  undergone  a  translation  into  silk  ;  his  waist- 
coat, instead  of  the  venerable  Presbyterian  flap-covers  to  the 
pockets,  which  were  of  Johnsonian  magnitude,  was  become 
plain — his  coat  in  all  times  single-breasted,  with  no  collar, 
still,  however,  maintained  its  ancient  characteristics  ;  instead, 
however,   of  the  former  bright  black  cast  horn,  the  buttons 

331 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 


were  covered  with  cloth.  But  the  chief  alteration  was  dis- 
cernible in  the  furniture  of  the  head.  He  had  exchanged  the 
simplicity  of  his  own  respectable  grey  hairs  for  the  cauliflower 
hoariness  of  a  Parrish^  wig,  on  which  he  wore  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  turned  up  a  little  at  each  side  behind,  in  a 
portentous  manner,  indicatory  of  Episcopali.in  predilections. 
This,  however,  was  not  justified  by  any  alteration  in  his  prin- 
ciples, being  merely  an  innocent  variation  of  fashion,  the 
natural  result  of  a  Doctor  of  Divinity  buying  a  hat  and  wig  in 
London. 

The  moment  that  the  Doctor  made  his  appearance,  his 
greeting  and  salutation  was  quite  delightful ;  it  was  that  of  a 
father  returned  to  his  children,  and  a  king  to  his  people. 

Almost  immediately  after  the  Doctor,  Mrs.  Pringle,  followed 
by  Miss  Mally  Glencairn  and  Miss  Isabella  Tod,  also  de- 
bouched from  the  gate,  and  the  assembled  females  remarked, 
with  no  less  instinct,  the  transmutation  which  she  had  uncer- 
gone.  She  was  dressed  in  a  dark  blue  cloth  pelisse,  trimmed 
with  a  dyed  fur,  which,  as  she  told  Miss  Mally,  'looked  quite 
as  well  as  sable,  without  costing  a  third  of  the  money.'  A 
most  matronly  muff,  that,  without  being  of  sable,  was  of  an 
excellent  quality,  contained  her  hands ;  and  a  very  large 
Leghorn  straw  bonnet,  decorated  richly,  but  far  from  excess, 
with  a  most  substantial  band  and  bow  of  a  broad  crimson 
satin  ribbon  around  her  head. 

If  the  Doctor  was  gratified  to  see  his  people  so  gladly  throng- 
ing around  him,  Mrs.  Pringle  had  no  less  pleasure  also  in 
her  thrice-wclcomc  reception.  It  was  an  understood  thing, 
that  she  had  been  mainly  instrumental  in  enabling  the  minister 
to  get  his  great  Indian  legacy  ;  and  in  whatever  estimation 
she  may  have  been  previously  held  for  her  economy  and 
management,  she  was  now  looked  up  to  as  a  personage 
skilled  in  the  law,  and  partirularly  versed  in  testamentary 
erudition.  Accordingly,  in  the  customary  testimonials  of 
homage  with  which  she  was  saluted  in  her  passage  to  the 
church  door,  there  was  evidently  a  sentiment  of  veneration 
mingled,  such  as  h.id  never  been  evinced  before,  and  which 
was  neither  unobserved  nor  unappreciated  by  that  acute  and 
perspicacious  lady. 

^  See  the  Edinburgh  Revieio,  for  an  account  of  our  old  friend,  Dr. 
Parr's  wiy,  and  Spital  Sermon. 


in 


The  inomtnt  that  the  Doctor  made  hit  appearance.^ 
Copyright  1895  by  Maimillan  is-  Co 


THE  AYRSHIRE  LEGATEES 

The  Doctor  himself  did  not  preach,  but  sat  in  the  minister's 
pew  till  Mr.  Snodt,frass  had  concluded  an  eloquent  and  truly 
an  affecting  sermon  ;  at  the  end  of  which,  the  Doctor  rose  and 
went  up  into  the  pulpit,  where  he  publicly  returned  thanks  for 
the  favours  and  blessings  he  had  obtained  during  his  absence, 
and  for  the  safety  in  which  he  had  been  restored,  after  many 
dangers  and  tribulations,  to  the  affections  of  his  parishioners. 

Such  were  the  principal  circumstances  that  marked  the 
return  of  the  family.  In  the  course  of  the  week  after,  the 
estate  of  Moneypennies  being  for  sale,  it  was  bought  for  the 
Doctor  as  a  great  bargain.  It  was  not,  however,  on  account  of 
.he  advantageous  nature  of  the  purchase  that  our  friend  valued 
this  acquisition,  but  entirely  because  it  was  situated  in  his  own 
parish,  and  part  of  the  lands  marching  with  the  Glebe. 

The  previous  owner  of  Moneypennies  had  built  an  elegant 
house  on  the  estate,  to  which  Mrs.  Pringle  is  at  present  actively 
preparing  to  remove  from  the  manse ;  and  it  is  understood, 
that,  as  Mr.  Snodgrass  was  last  week  declared  helper,  and 
successor  to  the  Doctor,  his  marriage  with  Miss  Isabella  Tod 
will  take  place  with  all  convenient  expedition.  There  is  also 
reason  to  believe,  that,  as  soon  as  decorum  will  permit,  any 
scruple  which  Mrs.  Glibbans  had  to  a  second  marriage  is  now 
removed,  and  that  she  will  soon  again  grace  the  happy  circle 
of  wives  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Craig.  Indeed,  we  are  assured 
that  Miss  Nanny  Eydent  is  actually  at  this  time  employed 
in  making  up  her  wedding  garments  ;  for,  last  week,  that 
Avorthy  and  respectable  young  person  was  known  to  have 
visited  Bailie  Delap's  shop,  at  a  very  early  hour  in  the 
morning,  and  to  have  priced  many  things  of  a  bridal  character, 
besides  getting  swatches ;  after  which  she  was  seen  to  go  to 
Mrs.  Glibbans's  house,  v/here  she  remained  a  very  considerable 
time,  and  to  return  straight  therefrom  to  the  shop,  and  purchase 
divers  of  the  articles  which  she  had  priced  and  inspected  ;  all 
of  which  constitute  sufficient  grounds  for  the  general  opinion 
in  Irvine,  that  the  union  of  Mr.  Craig  with  Mrs.  Glibbans  is  a 
happy  event  drawing  near  to  consummation. 


Printed  by  R.  &  R.  Clark,  Edinburgh. 


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